


Losing the Kingdom

by Starren_Moonstone



Series: Timewatch [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-10
Packaged: 2018-04-03 17:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 43,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4108339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starren_Moonstone/pseuds/Starren_Moonstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Great Britain has been broken up, and England is having a hard time adjusting to it. He loses himself, and it is up to the old members of the UK, along with several others, to get England back on his own two feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was originally posted by me on fanfiction.net. Some of the content for this story since then has been edited.  
> General notes for this story: italics mean memories or dream sequences, normal letters are for present day, and bolded words are sounds going on outside of the dream or memory.  
> There is a music playlist for this story: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLaO9vIg6HeW2pxQImZocj44ePKFJsrRQM

_The storm had gotten worse. The sea was rising with anger and it felt as though the little vessel of a ship was inside a snow globe being shaken by a toddler. England, in a black captain's coat, stood at the wheel, not trusting anyone else to steer the ship to safety. He had been doing this longer than any of them had been born after all._

_"Sir!" one of the members of the crew called out, "We can't see anything through this!"_

_"Keep vigilant!" England shouted back, "There'll be no safety until this storm ends." 'Or we reach port,' he thought, though it looked very unlikely since he couldn't even find land. 'Damn it. We should be near shore. Why can't we see anything?' he thought._

_There was a crack of lightning nearby, and the noise temporarily deafened England. He wasn't all that scared before. Now he was terrified. Lighting storm plus wooden boat equals almost certain death. Also waves larger than a ship didn't make the situation any better._

_'Lord God in heaven,' he silently prayed, something he hadn't done in a long time, 'Steer this goddamn ship to safety or I swear I'll…'_

_"LOOK OUT!"_

_From out of nowhere another ship, much bigger than England's vessel, appeared. Without any time to get away, the two ships crashed into each other. England was propelled forward on to the main deck. "It's the Spaniards!" one of the crew shouts._

_England got up and straitened his captain's hat. Indeed, it was the Spaniards. Their colors were whipping around in the winds of the storm. All of England's crew that was on deck had their weapons out. "Hold your ground!" England commanded, though he drew out his weapon as well. Any other day, it would have been a _“charge-and-take-no-prisoners”_ attitude, but today they were in a bloody storm and their ship was badly damaged to the point of no return. If Spain was on board this ship, just maybe they could come up with an agreement to get out of this alive._

_Indeed, Spain was on board. "Well, look what the storm decided to wash in?" the Spaniard said, nonchalantly._

_The Spaniard walked up close the England, so that the two of them were almost touching. "Just between you and me, I have someone at home I'd very much like to get back to in one piece or else he'll kill me. No doubt you do as well. Surrender your ship and I'll see you home. Comprende?"_

_England raised an eyebrow. "And how can I trust you?"_

_"You really don't have a choice do you?" England looked down and saw a gun pointed at his stomach. "It's not loaded. This is just for show. My ship is fine. So tell your crew to obey my orders, or I will have you perish in this storm."_

_England swallowed his pride and dropped his sword. His men followed suit, though it was obvious they were not happy about it._

_"Good. Don't worry, I'll take good care of you and your men. Just this once."_

_With his hands raised in defeat, England was led by Spain's gun point onto the Spanish ship. He was guided to the captain's quarters, and England gave a confused look._

_"Now," Spain said, closing the door, "I have to get this ship out of the storm. Take a lie down. You look beat. I'll be back when we are safe and sound, 'k? Oh, and welcome to the Asunción."_

_England nodded as Spain left the room. Being there should have made England nervous, but he actually felt a great weight being lifted off his shoulders and he did feel tired._ **England?** _He lay down on the bed and sighed. He hoped he was making the right choice, surrendering for the sake of the crew._ **England, can you hear me?** _That and if the Spaniard would be true to his word._ **Wake up, England!** _England closed his eyes and let his mind become numb. His last thought being about the child back home who was waiting for his return._ **Shit, what have you done?**


	2. Chapter 2

                Scotland tried slapping England in the face again, knowing it was probably in vain by that point in time. He had England in his arms as if his younger brother was wounded in battle. England's breathing was barely noticeable; it was very slow like one of a coma patient. His face was very pale, almost as if a white plaster was put on his face. He was also very cold to the touch, no doubt because the heat in the flat wasn't working. "You idiot," Scotland said in a chiding manner.

                It hadn't even been a full year since the dissolution of the United Kingdom and it appeared England decided it was a brilliant idea to drown his sorrow away with ale. Not that it was surprising; England always did this whenever one of his colonies gained independence. The only reason Scotland was even in London was because he hadn't heard from his brother for a good solid month, which was odd for England. He'd usually call up Scotland at least once a week for some reason or another. So, being the big brother he was, he went to check up on how his little brother was doing in person. He wasn't expecting this that was for sure.

                Though, there was something about this scene that wasn't adding up in Scotland's mind. There was only one bottle of ale in the room. He knew well enough that England couldn't handle his liquor, but he could handle way more than just one bottle of the stuff. One also wouldn't knock him out completely senseless anyway; one would make him tipsy enough so that he couldn't walk strait. Two would get him all emotional about things that have long been resolved, so on and so forth.

                Scotland lay England carefully back down on the ground and checked the rest of England's flat. Nothing to suggest any more ale was consumed recently. He went back to the room England was in, which was a bedroom with a study desk and a bookshelf full of magical items more than actual books.

                There was nothing really out of the ordinary. Scotland looked back down at his little brother and noticed something a few centimeters away from England's right hand. Scotland picked it up carefully. It was a syringe; it was empty, but the sides were stained with a clear liquid that reflected with pale rainbow colors in the sunlight.

                Scotland recognized it, but wasn't sure from where. He glanced all over the room again and noticed a plastic bottle of clear liquid on the bookshelf. He picked it up and put it in the sunlight. Sure enough, the liquid gave off the same colorful glow. There was a label: ambrosia.

                'I remember where I have seen this before,' Scotland thought, his anger rising, though not at England. He had several run-ins with ambrosia, the last time a few centuries back. A "miracle healer" sold the stuff; it killed a ton of people. Many suspected witchcraft, but the "healer" was caught and was dealt with accordingly by a small group Scotland had put together for that purpose. The ambrosia disposed of as to not endanger anyone else. Scotland thought that he would never have to deal with the stuff again.

                Apparently not. 'But how did England get his hands of this stuff,' Scotland thought as he put the bottle down on the desk.

                There was only one thing for this. Scotland picked up his brother and put him in bed. Once England was tucked in, Scotland took out his mobile phone and dialed Wales.

                "Scotty?" Wales asked, though he said it as more of a statement than a question. No doubt he was annoyed that he was being summoned by the call of a mobile. He hated mobile phones, but was fine with computers, something Scotland was still confused by.

                "Aye. I need you to get your ass over here."

                "What is it?" Wales asked. Scotland could hear roaring flames in the background. "I'm in the middle of a ritual."

                Normally, Scotland would have let it be, since Wales' rituals were very delicate. But this wasn't a normal situation. "It's going to have to wait. England's in need of an intervention." Scotland looked at a picture on England's desk. It was of the North American brothers and England himself. With what Scotland could tell, it was taken in front of the Olympic torch back in 2012.

                "I'm not surprised. I'll be over, but it's not something that pressing, is it? It's not the first time he's drunk himself senseless."

                "No it ain't, but this is serious." Scotland sighed out of frustration of the situation. "Look, I also need you to get a hold of Canada and America and then get over here at England's flat as soon as you can. You're on better terms with them than I am."

                The roar of the flames died. "What happened to England?" Wales asked. Scotland could hear a subtle panic in his voice. "You don't ever bring other people to our family problems."

                "Ambrosia. Apparently he's gotten his hands on the stuff."

                Scotland could hear a thump on the other side as if the phone had been dropped. "…I'll be over." Wales hung up with Scotland.

                Scotland made one more call, this time to Northern Ireland.

                "Scotty!" the Irishman on the other side said in his usual cheery voice, "Long time, no see. What's up?" Scotland could hear music in the back ground; an upbeat tune on a flute.

                "I need you to come over to England's flat. He's put himself in trouble."

                The music was turned down. "What kind of trouble? Has he gotten mixed up into something bad? Oh, I knew this separation wasn't going to be good for him…"

                "He might be. He's put himself in a coma-like state."

                "No…" Northern Ireland gasped. "I'll be over. Yes, brother, I'm going over," Northern Ireland directed the last part to someone else.

                "You cannot be serious!" someone on the other line shouted. Probably Ireland. The voice then proceeded to keep swearing in Irish Gaelic. Definitely Ireland.

                "Is it alright if my brother comes over too?" Northern Ireland asked slowly, almost guiltily, "I kinda promised him that I'd spend time with him since it's been ages and ages that we've been apart."

                "Aye." Scotland would have rather not have Ireland come along for this; there was already going to be enough problems considering he asked for America to come. Maybe something good would come out of this.

                "See you in a few hours then. Now, Ire, calm down..."

                Scotland hung up the phone and went outside on the street, where the light mist made everything damp and cold. He took out a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. He angrily held the cigarette in between his teeth and breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a specific song in the background during the call with North Ireland. Just look up some traditional Irish music if you want an idea of what is being played.  
> 


	3. Chapter 3

_"Scotland!" England called out as he ran, "Wait for me!" He had a hard time running with his quiver, mainly because it was a bit too big for him. He himself was dressed in a green cape and a white nightshirt._

_"You have to keep up then," the older nation said, "I'm not going to wait for you, you know." Scotland was in his usual skirt (though Scotland himself called it a kilt) that had a sash with a matching cape. It was all in a blue and green box-like pattern. England asked him about it once; Scotland said it was traditional garb of his people. England said that no one else wore capes. Scotland commented back that no one in England wore white dresses either, and that ended that discussion._

_"No fair. I'm shorter than you."_

_"Aye, ain't that the truth."_

_England grumbled but did catch up with Scotland eventually. They walked in the woods for a bit, then the trees started getting thinner until they disappeared altogether, showing the rolling hills full of grass, flowers, and fairies. The sun was blocked by grey clouds, overcasting the land in a dull light. But despite the gloominess, England never thought of the land to be dull. The colors shown through, making it still the beautiful land that it is._

_England asked, "Aren't we going to see mum?"_

_"Aye," Scotland replied irritably._

_"Then why are we going this way?"_

_"Because she's over here today."_

_England tugged at Scotland's arm. "Why so close to the people?"_

_Scotland sighed exasperatedly. "You can ask her yourself when we get there, laddie."_

_They reached a settlement that hadn't been used for a very long time. The inhabitants were drawn out of the area by invaders some number of years ago. Some distance away from the normal houses was a wooden temple which was slowly rotting away. Scotland and England went inside, where a woman in a white dress sat at the center weaving cloth. The colors of it were red, white, and blue. The pattern was one that England had never seen before; they almost looked like a flag._

_"Mum!" England said happily._

_"About time you came up to see me, little one," the woman said. She put down her weaving and England gave her a hug. The woman smelled of the forest trees and wild flowers; it made England feel safe like nothing else._

_"Why are you over here instead of the forest?" England asked._

_"I want to see the rest of the land," Brittania said, "It's not all forest you know."_

_"But you don't usually do that."_

_The woman smiled kindly. "It is good to see the world sometimes too, Anglo. It is bigger than you can ever imagine."_

_England looked at Brittania with a puppy dog's eyes. "You're going away, aren't you?"_

 

_England woke up, back on the ship. It wasn't rocking as much anymore. He groaned and sat up. It had been a while since he had thought about Britannia._

_"Ah, so you've woken up at last," Spain said, smiling in a way England had never seen him smile before. It was a natural one, pure with no hint of mischievousness._

_"Where are we?" England asked. His head felt foggy; for whatever reason, he felt as though he was forgetting something._

_"In the Caribbean Sea. We're going to stop by one of my ports for supplies. We'll take a few days there, and then we set off to Europe."_

_England tried to recollect the events of last night. "My ship was completely destroyed, wasn't it?"_

_Spain nodded. "Everyone got off safely, and we did manage to salvage a few things. Which reminds me." Spain pulled out a box. "This is yours, I take it?" England nodded. "It's locked, so I hope you have a key."_

_England shook his head as he took the box. It was a handheld thing, engraved with winding Celtic patterns and a spoon with a handle that wasn't completely solid. The handle was made out of a horseshoe, a Celtic cross, and a four-leaf clover. It was a gift from Wales a long time ago. "I think it's down with the ship."_

_"Pity. Maybe you can get someone to unlock it for you when we reach shore."_

_'Maybe,' England thought. He couldn't remember what was in the little box; it made him feel uneasy. Even if he had the key with him, he wouldn't want to open it. "Why are you helping me out?"_

_Spain looked out of the window. "To be honest, I actually like you. We're very similar, and in that storm, I couldn't help but take pity in your plight. For now, why not a truce, until I can get you back home."_

_"Does this mean no fights?"_

_Spain grins, "A good sword fight every now and then never did anyone harm."_


	4. Chapter 4

                America rang the doorbell as Canada kept squeezing Kumajirou's paw. They both had no idea what was going on. All they knew on the matter was that England was in a catatonic state and for some reason their assistance was required.

                "I still don't get why they need us," America grumbled for the thousandth time. "Seriously, shouldn't Wales and Scotland be enough."

                "Depends," Canada said quietly, "After all, England was also Great Britain. Maybe the dissolution did more damage to him than we thought."

                The door opened and an orange haired individual appeared at the door. His hair was cut short, but he wore a braid on the right side that touched his shoulder. His eyes were mismatched; one was a light blue, the other a light green. He had a zip up sweatshirt on, which was a deep emerald green color. He smiled wide when he recognized the pair of North Americans.

                "You finally got here!" he said, pulling them into a great big hug, "It's been too long since I've seen you two. And you were so much smaller then."

                "Um…" America wasn't exactly sure what to say. While, yes he did recognize this person, he couldn't place a name.

                "Right, it has been a while since we've seen each other. I'm not surprised you've forgotten about me. I'm Northern Ireland. Come on in."

                They entered into the hallway and the ginger closed the door. "Now, turn around and don't move."

                Without any other warning, Northern Ireland touched America and Canada's foreheads once they turned around and said something in Irish Gaelic; the brothers couldn't make out what was said since they understood none of that language. Nothing really changed, though America felt a tingling sensation left where Northern Ireland touched him.

                "Sorry I had to do that," Northern Ireland said, "But ever since I heard you two stopped seeing the fairies, I've been wanting to fix that".

                America blew air through his nose in amusement and shook his head. 'So this guy has hallucinations too,' he thought.

                "Especially since we're going to be together for a while," Northern Ireland finished, not noticing America's reaction.

                "What?" America and Canada asked simultaneously.

                "Oh, did Wales not tell you about that?" Northern Ireland asked surprised.

                "All he said was that England was in a coma," America said.

                "Well, best we head up there and explain the situation in full. America, lead the way. It's the door at the end of the hall once we get up these stairs."

                They go up the stairs; America was the one to open said door, followed by Northern Ireland then Canada. On the right hand side, there were three closed doors. Directly in front was a bathroom. On the left was a kitchen/living room area, where another ginger, who looked almost identical to Northern Ireland, and Wales were sitting at a table. There was also a red thing on the table that looked up when the door was loudly closed shut. It came literally zooming over like a bullet to the group, and tackled America to the ground, knocking Northern Ireland on the way down.

                "The hell?" America said, trying to get the creature off him. As a little guy, this thing had a lot of strength because it refused to let America up. It kept pressing its face into the nation, like a cat on a leg.

                "That's enough, Taliesin," Wales said, getting up and picking up the creature, "He gets the message. Good to see you again, America. Canada. Though I wish it were under better circumstances."

                "Yeah," America said, getting up.

                The only reason America recognized Wales was because he'd seen Wales at the last world meeting, the one right before the dissolution of the UK. Since he looked so much like England, America mistook him for England. That was an awkward encounter, but Wales didn't take it personally.

                Wales was in a button up dress shirt with a poppy pin on the left side. The creature was wriggling violently, yet Wales was able to keep it in his hands easily. It was only at that moment that America saw that it was a dragon, albeit very small.

                "I thought dragons didn't exist," America said.

                Wales gave him a confused look. "They do. They always have. They just don't like being around people. North," Wales called back to Northern Ireland, who was already in the kitchen, "What did you do down there?"

                "Nothing that major. I just opened up the bit that sees magic and all its wonders. Do you want tea, Canada?" Northern Ireland asked. 

                Canada nodded.

                "What about you, America?"

                "I'll take coffee," the American stated simply.

                "Oh, that's right," Northern Ireland realized, "You have a thing with tea."

                "I just don't like the taste of it," America said. It was half true; he didn't really care for tea and never understood why England loved it so much. He completely lost the taste of it during the time when he was captured and forced to drink the stuff that was inspired by Boston's tea party (namely, salt-water tea). It just left a bitter impression.

                Based on appearances, the other ginger was Ireland. Other than the hair, which was a mirror image to the way Northern Ireland had it, they looked like completely different people. Ireland's eyes were mismatched as well, but with deep blue and deep green. His attire was a dress shirt colored white. He also had a ring on that had a four leaf clover on it. Ireland hadn't said anything at all, but looked intently at America as if trying to read something.

                "Hi, Ireland," America said.

                Ireland only nodded his head once, and then returned to his book that he had been reading beforehand.

                "Where's Scotland?" Canada asked.

                "He's with England," Wales said, "No, he's still not up, but we want to make sure that nothing changes in his condition for the worse. Tell me, what do you two know about ambrosia?"

                "Isn't that a thing in a Greek myth?" America said, "What does that have to do with anything?"

                "It's not a myth. It was originally made so that the consumer could forget memories, used so that the bad memories could be wiped away, in theory. What it actually does to most people is kill them. But as we are nations, it has a different effect. It's something of an addicting drug for us as well as make us forget memories. England's gone and overdosed on it."

                "Ok, so this is an intervention. Why were me and Canada brought here?"

                "Memories are a delicate thing," Ireland said, not looking up from his book, "You two are a thread of memory that they don't have." Everyone just kinda looked at Ireland for a moment, all of them taken off guard that the nation said "they" and not "we", like he was separate from this situation even though he was physically present; Ireland did not look up from his book.

                Wales cleared his throat and explained: "England's memory is going to be hazy and mixed up. We know about some things, you know about others. Besides, with the situation as it is now, when England wakes up, he's going to need to know he has support. He's always been such a stubborn child."

                "Well, it certainly runs in the family," Northern Ireland said, handing out the tea and coffee.

                "Once we have a better understanding of England's condition," Wales continued, "I believe we'll move out into York. The country side does wonders for recovery."

                "Not to mention there's more space," Northern Ireland added in.

                "Can I see him?" America asked after a while.

                Wales looked at America intently and America got the impression he was being read. After a moment, Wales shrugged and said, "I don't see why not."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name of Wales' dragon, Taliesin, is of an actual person, but also of a bard who gains the gift of prophesy. Just a fun fact I thought I'd share. Also, the dragon is based off the one found on the Welsh flag (and this Beanie Baby version that I got while I was over in Wales), so if you want more information on what it looks like, there you go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The song Wales hums is Suo Gan.

_England hid in the bushes, bow and arrows ready for the attack._ **He looks really pale.** _He grinned. This time, for sure, he was going to get Scotland._ **He's always been pale.**

 **I mean paler than usual.** _A flock of birds suddenly flew up into the sky._ **He has more color now. He doesn't look like a porcelain doll anymore.** _England came out of his hiding spot to see what was the matter. The sky was dark grey, threatening rain._   **That's a good sign.** _'That's odd,' he thought as he walked out of the forest. 'It was perfectly sunny just a moment ago.'_

 _He went over to Stonehenge, where he found Scotland, the Irish twins, and Wales all gathered around the center. There was someone on the middle stone; England could see the arm. On the wrist was a golden bangle with the symbol of a shield that had a cross covering it. It was a bracelet that Britannia always wore._ **Come on England! Wake up already!**

 _He felt hands gripping his shoulders and England felt as though he was being pulled away._ **America, stop it.** _"Mum?" he asked, running towards the body on the stone._ **England?** _Indeed, Britannia was on the stone, though she looked more like a ghost; her body was transparent. She looked at England, smiled kindly, and said something, but the words were lost on England's ears. In the next moment, she disappeared completely._ **Looks like he's coming around…**   _"Mum!"_

                England found himself in a different place, a room with beige walls and white furniture. There were people around him, who he didn't recognize at first glance. His head felt all fuzzy, like his mind had been spun around one too many times.

                "Hey there, little brother," the red head said who was looking down at him from the other end of the bed. He was in a completely blue and official-looking uniform with a white criss-cross on the front. He sounded gruff, like he was annoyed at something. The guy's eyes kept darting at one of the other occupants in the room, who had glasses on and short blonde hair. Right next to him was another blonde guy who looked just like him, glasses and all, but his hair was longer and his face was nicer. "How are you feeling?"

                England realized that the red head was Scotland, though much older. There was no mistaking the violently red hair even if it was now accompanied by some facial hair on the chin. It wasn't much at all, but it definitely made him look older. "What happened to mum?" England asked, sounding completely helpless.

                "What?" Scotland looked surprised.

                "Oh no," someone else in the room said, though England didn't know who. His focus was solely on Scotland.

                "What happened? Where is she? Why was she on the stone table?" England could feel panic rise within him.

                "What's he talking about?" that first blonde glasses guy asked. He had this one small clump of hair sticking up and all England wanted to do was reach out and pat it down flat.

                "Shh…" a orange haired individual said. His eyes were blue and green, soft colors as well. Plus there was a green shamrock in his hair.

                "England…" Scotland said slowly, "She's gone… she's been gone a long time…"

                England felt his heart breaking. "No, she can't… She can't be dead."

                "Come on, you two," the orange haired person said, "Let's skedaddle, shall we?" Even though the hair was wrong, England could have sworn it was Ireland or North, he could never tell who was who.

                "Please tell me this is one of your tricks," England said to Scotland, getting up. "Please…"

                Scotland didn't say anything. A person with short, pale-blonde hair put two hands on England's shoulders and pushed him back down on the bed. "It's alright, England," this person said calmly.

                "No it isn't!" England started fighting against this person.

                "Shhh…" the pale blonde said, his turquoise eyes glowing. Instantly, England calmed down. This was Wales, no doubt about it; only Wales could calm him down so easily. "Shhh… go back to sleep. We'll explain everything in the morning."

                England felt his eyelids drop as he slowly nodded. Wales started humming a song that Britannia would sing on some nights. With tears in his eyes, England fell back asleep.

 

_England stared at his box. Spain was taking a siesta and England really didn't want to see the eyes of Spain's crew alone. They didn't really like England, which was to only be expected. There was something important about the box. While true, he knew that Wales gave it to him, that was all he knew about it._

_Although he did remember that the spoon had meaning, according to Wales. It was a love spoon and each of the different symbols meant something. England knew the horse shoe was to represent luck and the cross was to represent faith. The four leaf clover... luck again? Or was it just a symbol for Ireland and North's land? England couldn't remember._

_Then there was the whole issue of opening the darned thing. There had to be a key; there was a lock on it. But England had no idea where that key was and just assumed that it sunk with the ship. But he had this nagging feeling inside him that he had the key on him. Why?_

_Spain started coughing violently and woke up. He fell out of the hammock he was using. England put the box down. "Something wrong?" England asked, getting up and helping Spain up to a sitting position._

_Spain shook his head, but was still coughing. England took out his flask and handed it to Spain, who had a swig of the stuff._

_"Gracias, Inglaterra," Spain said quietly._

_"What happened?"_

_Spain shook his head again, "I don't know. It's been happening to be a lot recently, though, ever since I started on this voyage. No need to worry about it though. I am fine."_

_England nodded, acknowledging the comment but not really believing it. Spain sounded shaken, not just physically._


	6. Chapter 6

                "What just happened?" America asked once Scotland and Wales came into the kitchen. Ireland was told what happened in the other room, and he was completely surprised.

                "I could be asking you the same question," Scotland muttered, scowling at America. America didn't hear though; Canada did. Scotland sighed. "Amnesia," he stated out loud, "I thought you'd be a bit smarter than that."

                "But… Mum?" Canada asked.

                "Oh, that." Scotland put his hand on the back of his neck and closed his eyes in thought. "Our mother was Britannia. She raised all of us for a time, but then she just faded away one day. The last time any of us saw her was at Stonehenge, telling us to get alone, protect each other, brotherly duties."

                "We all took it hard," Wales said, "Especially England. He was only a newborn at the time."

                "So, you have to help repair all of his memory," Ireland stated. "Great."

                "It could be worse," Northern Ireland said to his brother, "He could have had complete amnesia. Though it's really unexpected," Northern Ireland's face fell into a seriously thoughtful look, "I'd never expect it to go that far. Only to maybe 1707. After all, that was when Great Britain was first officially formed."

                "It could be that he might have woken from a dream," Wales mused, "I know that you can't get your bearings when you've been taken out of a dream."

                They stayed there in silence for a time. Scotland eventually it. "We should head out to York. The city would only confuse England if he really is stuck at that time."

                "Tomorrow?" Wales asked.

                Scotland nodded. "No point now. I don't like driving at night and since I'm the only one who can drive…" Scotland noticed America's hand being raised like a little school boy, "by English rules," he added, "I don't want any more trouble than there already is." America put his hand down sulkily.

                Scotland left the room. Canada followed. They headed outside, where Scotland took out a cigarette and lighter.

                "Did America do something bad?" Canada asked nervously. Truth be told, he was intimidated by Scotland.

                "Hm?" Scotland looked up from his lighter. "No, I just don't trust his driving skills."

                "No, I mean back in England's room," Canada clarified, "You kept looking at America angrily."

                "Oh, that…" Scotland lit the cigarette and blew out some smoke before proceeding, "I have a good feeling he used magic."

                "But he doesn't have any. He barely even believes in it anymore, if at all."

                "Aye, but I know I felt something when he was shaking England. A spark. Besides, the two of you do have magic. You've both used it before."

                "Really?" Canada asked. He had no memories of ever using magic, and barely any of magic in it of itself, just a few scattered fragments.

                "Aye, I can't believe you've forgotten. You two grew up with magic."

                Canada closed his eyes for a moment. "I remember England reading to us and making the stories come to life, but other than that."

                Scotland nodded. "I guess you two were young. You were better at it than America. At least you used it more." Scotland glanced at Canada, who was looking down at the curb. "You should head inside, you look like you're about to fall over your own two feet."

                Canada nodded and went back inside. He wasn't really tired so much worn. He had recently been to meeting after meeting concerning world order; all of which he was just sitting and listening to the bosses argue. He really wanted to sit them down and have them just talk like normal people and realize everyone has feelings, but that was not his role in these meetings nor would it actually do much good.

                And then this came up. Canada knew how fragile England was emotionally, but he never expected something like this so late. He wouldn't have been so surprised if this happened in the first week or so. But now it was pressing on to the third month since the dissolution. And anyway, it couldn't have been just an overdose to get high; there had to be another reason. Canada knew England that much.

 

                Northern Ireland watched his brother pace the bedroom they were sharing. Wales and Scotland had the other bedroom and the North American brothers were in the common area. For the past half hour, Ireland had been trying to work a spell without much success. He could only get random sparks to fly from his hands.

                "You're probably just tired," Northern Ireland suggested.

                Ireland didn't respond; it was official, he was pissed. He always got quiet when he was annoyed with something.

                "You could have stayed home if you didn't want to come," Northern Ireland said. He already felt bad about this whole situation. It was very bad timing all the way around.

                "No, we had a promise."

                Northern Ireland shook his head, "I would have come back once everything had been resolved."

                "And by the looks of it now, that's going to take a long time, and you would have probably asked me to come."

                Northern Ireland sighed. "Ire, what are you trying to prove?"

                Ireland stopped pacing. "Nothing...?" he said slowly and questioningly.

                "Sure, and your being stubborn for no reason."

                Ireland walked over and sat down next to Northern Ireland. "I'm not trying to prove anything."

                "Then what's all this?"

                Ireland didn't comment.

                "I know you don't want to be here, and I can't understand why you're here in the first place because of that. If you're going to stay, at least try to be less… moody. They are still your family, whether you acknowledge it or not."

                Ireland rolled his eyes and laid down.

                "What spell were you trying to do anyway?" Northern Ireland asked curiously.

                Ireland took out a charm the shape of a sheep. "Trying to make this actually useful. I think it's the city atmosphere."

                "Probably. I know I have a harder time with my magic in modern places. You should try again when we get to the countryside. What kind of charm this time?"

                "Protection from illness. I know you are going to want to use that healing spell of yours when it rains; this is so that you don't get sick afterwards."

                North Ireland smiled, "Thank you, Ire."

 

                America lay on the sleeping bag, not exactly sure what to make of the situation. England was going to live; not much of a surprise there since he is a nation and he was the most stubborn one of all. But he lost his memory, or stuck in a memory, or something. 'Ahh,' he thought in frustration. That's not even mentioning the fact that England got into this mess in the first place because of an overdose. America could handle the drunkenness (sort of, a part of him was still in prohibition mode), but drugs… he never thought that England would go that far.

                "Something wrong?" Canada asked, coming into the room. He had a concern face on and was holding Kumajirou very tightly. America could have sworn the little stuffed animal blinked, but he brushed it aside thinking it was just because he was tired.

                "I don't get why England would do this," America said bitterly.

                Canada sat down on his sleeping bag and looked at Kumajirou's head.

                "You know, don't you?" America asked.

                Canada nodded. He didn't answer at first, but when he looked up and saw America's intense stare, he sighed. "After you got your independence, England drank himself senseless, trying to forget the pain of the whole ordeal. Since he was still on our side of the world at the time, I took care of him until he got better."

                "But why? Why then, and why now?"

                "He doesn't want to be alone," Canada said simply.

                America waited for Canada to say more, but nothing came. When he looked over, Canada had laid down on his own sleeping bag, his back turned so that America couldn't tell if Canada was still awake or not.

                'I never knew,' America thought, lying down as well. It was true, he knew that England had friend issues, but he never said anything about it, so America always thought he was fine with being alone.

                Taliesin came into the room and got up right into America's face. 'And then there's this thing,' America thought, staring back and giving the evil eye. Dragons didn't exist, he knew that. Yet, here was a dragon, right in front of his very eyes. Had he finally cracked or...

                'Northern Ireland did something...' America remembered. He pushed the dragon off him and turned over to sleep. 'Maybe this is just a temporary trick or something like that,' he thought. The last thing he remembered was Taliesin curling up right beside him.

 

                Scotland looked up at the night sky. It was chilly outside, and he grumbled at the fact that he had to be outside to smoke. It was about eleven o'clock at night at this point and no one was on the street except for him. This street of London was quiet, which was nice, though a bit out of place.

                "You… how is it you outlived me?" asked a voice.

                Scotland calmly turned his head to see a ghost of a water nymph. She was transparent, but it was obvious she was wearing a black dyed dress and the flowers in her hair were wilted.

                "That's just how it goes," Scotland shrugged, "Did you pass recently?"

                "No, it was a long time ago now. I've stayed out in the countryside until a few days ago."

                "Where are you from?"

                "The Green Lake," the nymph said, "Though it is anything but now."

                "Pollution?"

                The nymph shook her head. "Magic did this. A curse that has never been reversed. No one living remembers what happened."

                "You're still tied to it," Scotland noted.

                "That's right."

                Scotland butted out the cigarette on the wall behind him. This was serious now. If this creature had died a long time ago, her ghost was supposed to have moved on by now. It was time her suffering ended; it had gone on long enough. "Tell me where your lake is and I'll see it corrected."

                "You would?"

                Scotland nodded. He had a soft spot for the magical folk.

                "It's nearby York. There's a giant house with the flags of the Celtic Isles on it, it's by that forest, but on the other side."

                Scotland knew that building; it was England's house. The Celtic Isles being the ex-United Kingdom and Ireland (which to be technical still included Ireland since he was apart of it at one point in time).

                "This curse, do you remember who performed it." 'Not that it matters anymore,' Scotland thought, 'They're probably dead by now.'

                "He was just a boy in a white dress and a red bow tied around is neck. He had bright blue eyes like the sky and strait blonde hair, one tuff of it curling up. I think his brother called him "America." Odd name for a child, isn't it?"

                "Aye, as it's odd for my name to be Scotland. I know who he is, the little…"

                "He doesn't remember," the nymph quickly interjected waving her hands, "I think he was upset by what he had done, and his brother helped him forget, though his spell effected both of them. It was very powerful and the brother was inexperienced to be able to work it properly."

                "That traumatic of an event, was it?"

                "It would be for an adult, let alone a child, nation or not. The torture of all of us magical folk isn't something one ever forgets."

                Scotland nodded. No doubt this nymph had been through a lot, considering the state of her attire. The transformation couldn't have been pretty. "Thank you. You can go in peace, knowing the lake will be restored."

                "Grace be with you, Scotland." The nymph soon faded leaving Scotland alone again.

                'I knew it was odd that those brothers suddenly couldn't see the fairies,' Scotland thought, heading inside. He walked up the stairs and was stopped by the ghost of Britannia.

                "What now, Mum?" Scotland grumbled. Recently his mother had been visiting him, pressing him on one matter in particular and it was getting on Scotland's nerves.

                "Have you talked to Ireland? I know he's here."

                "I haven't told him yet. Be patient, mum." Scotland walked past Britannia's ghost.

                "When?" Britannia drifted in front of Scotland again as he was getting to the flat door.

                "When I can. This is something between me and him."

                "This concerns all of you."

                "Yeah, but it's Ireland's problem. Not Wales', not North's, and especially not the North America brothers'. Just be patient, will ye?" Scotland walked into the flat and headed for the room he and Wales were sharing.

                "That's all I have been doing, Scotshire."

                "Aye, I know. You can wait a bit longer, can ye?"

                Britannia nodded and disappeared. Scotland entered the room where Wales was still up, reading a spell book.

                "You made a deal with a ghost?" Wales asked when Scotland closed the door. No doubt he heard that last bit of the conversation, the walls were thin enough. Wales, as well as the rest of his brothers, knew that Scotland could see and communicate with ghosts.

                "It's fine, it's just Mum," Scotland clarified, unbuttoning his shirt. "Honestly, I've seen her more dead than alive." Scotland slipped his shirt off and sat on the bed.

                "Why? What does she want?"

                Scotland shook his head, "It has to do with Ireland, and only him."

                "Fair enough." Wales closed his book, "Still… what I wouldn't give to see her again." Wales had a sad look on his face; no doubt he missed her.

                "Trust me, you're fine with not seeing her on a constant basis."

                Wales flashed a smile. "But you still have conversations with her…" Wales flopped onto the bed.

                Scotland sighed, "Do you want me to give her a message?"

                Wales looked at Scotland in surprise, "Really?"

                "Would I ask if I didn't mean it?"

                "Yes," Wales said, sitting up and crossing his arms over his chest, "Yes you would."

                Scotland rolled his eyes, "I mean it this time."

                Wales laid back down on the bed. He looked up at the ceiling for a long time, trying to find the words for his message. "Tell her she was right," he said, long after Scotland had turned off the lights, and thought Wales had fallen asleep.

                Scotland nodded, though had no idea what Wales meant. He figured Britannia would know. After all, out of all the brothers, Wales was the closest to Britannia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a clarification, America thinks Kumajirou is a stuffed polar bear, not a real one. Also, the nickname Scotshire... yeah, that was because Scotty sounded to friendly for the conversation. Britannia has nicknames for all her children.


	7. Chapter 7

_England walked about the deck, Spain at his side. They agreed to the fact that England could walk about as long as Spain was there, charading the fact that he was a prisoner to the others to keep some order on the ship. At least then, England wouldn't be getting the angry glares of Spain's crew. The Atlantic Sea was around them, in its beautiful radiance under the sun._

_"You've been quiet today," Spain noted._

_"What, do I have to be talkative?"_

_"No, it's just that I'm not used to you being this quiet. Something on your mind?"_

_"Plenty. I feel like my mind is spinning more and more out of control."_

_"I know what you mean. I've been feeling it too…"_

_They stare out at the ocean for a time. "We should be getting to port in a few days' time. If you want, we can explore a little bit when we land. It would clear up that mind of yours."_

_England shook his head. "I prefer to be on the sea. I feel safer out here."_

_"Up to you. Personally, I want to be back on dry land."_

_England smirked. "Landlubber."_

_"And proud to be." Spain stuck out his tongue, "If I had a choice, I'd stay at home gardening."_

_"Really?"_

_Spain nodded. "I grow tomatoes. Ahhh," Spain ruffed up his hair, "Right now I'm missing the harvest. I'm going to get an earful from Romano when I get back."_

_"Romano?"_

_"Si, he's Southern Italy," Spain explained, "He's a little guy with a lot of punch. He's stubborn and a bit of a pain at times, but he's really sweet once you get past all that. Though, he'll never admit he has that side. He likes to pretend he's all tough."_

 

_England thought back to America who was waiting for him back home. Their last parting wasn't the greatest, in fact it was the worst…_

 

_"A suit?" America asked with an eyebrow raised. It was a nice suit; it was navy blue._

_"Yes," England said simply. He'd thought America would be more appreciative._

_"Dude, I don't where suits. They're too ridged."_

_England sighed, "I know, but you look like a commoner in those clothes. I can't be seen with you looking like that."_

_"Then I'll wear it for special occasions, but that's it. I'm not going to become you."_

_America walked away, leaving England alone with the suit in hand. He had been getting harder and harder to handle. England had heard before that humans in their teens were hard to get along with. Perhaps it's the same for nations._

_"Something wrong, England?" Australia asked. He was still very young, but already had the wildest sense of adventure that England had ever seen. On a good day, the little nation only had one bandage on. That day it was on his head from where he hit it after falling out of a tree._

_"Nothing you need to worry about," England said to Australia. He went to America's room and laid out the suit, then he went to his office for a meeting with his boss._

**_(A little later, after the meeting)_ **

_"I'm going to be going away again," England said to America, Canada, and Australia when he finally got them all together, the main worry being Australia because he couldn't stay still._

_"For how long?" America pressed. It was clear he didn't like this one bit._

_"About a month or so. I'm hoping to be back in three weeks, but with the seas being as they are this time of year it might be longer."_

_"Yeah, blame it on the sea," America grumbled and left the room._

_"When do you leave?" Canada asked._

_"Tomorrow, but early in the morning. I would have told you sooner, but my boss asked me only today."_

_Canada nodded. Australia raised his hand, "Can I come with you?"_

_"Not this time."_

_"When then? Because I want to see my land again."_

_England inwardly groaned and covered his eyes with his hands._ _Their lands… their homes… their people... 'When, England, when? When will you let us return? When will you let us be free?' Why did they all want to go?_

 

_"You mentioned you wanted to spar," Spain said out of the blue._

_England snapped out of his vivid daydream. "Is this an invitation?"_

_"I would like to show my crew how their boss fights. They believe I'm too much of a pacifist."_

_"Prepare for humiliation then," England said, grinning, "I don't lose easily."_

_"We shall see about that."_

_Spain tossed England a sword. They distanced themselves so that they were 10 steps apart. Already the crew was gathering around ready to see the spectacle. 'And it's what they are going to get,' England thought._

_"Whenever you are ready," Spain called out._

_"Three, two, one."_

_They charged at each other, swords in striking position. The vibration of the clash of the swords made England feel alive. It had been an age since he had a good old fashioned sword fight. No guns, no tasers, just a fast eye and a good wit. 'Wait… taser?' England thought for a second. He narrowly dodged an attack from his left by Spain's sword. 'What the bloody hell is a taser?'_

_Spain came at him again, flicking his wrist so that the sword was coming down on England. England blocked it by knocking Spain's sword off course. 'This isn't the time to think about imaginary objects,' England thought as he brought his sword close to his body._

_Spain came over to the right, England cut him off. England tried to come from above, but that left his body vulnerable, which Spain took advantage of. So England quickly withdrew his sword and used it as a shield._

_"Very defensive, Inglaterra," Spain noted, "Can you not attack?"_

_"Watch me, Spain." England led attacks so that he and Spain were close to the mast of the ship. Taking this to his advantage, England swung around the mast, gaining momentum and came in for a strong blow which Spain met with ease._

_"See?" England said, "I can attack."_

_"Please, I could have done that."_

_Clash, clash, clash. This swords kept coming into contact, to the left, right, up top, blocking maneuvers and blows that were quite skillful. Clearly, they were at perfect odds with each other. At a stalemate if you will._

_"This is getting nowhere," Spain pointed out as the two of them pushed against the other's swords._

_"Draw?" England suggested jokingly._

_"Do you want my ship to end in anarchy?" Spain asked with an eyebrow raised, but smiling. "There has to be a clear winner. I say since this is my ship you should let me win."_

_"No chance in hell. I still have my pride."_

_At that exact moment, the ship suddenly lunged to the side, catching the swordsmen off guard and tossing them to the ground._

_"Now what in bloody blazes…" There was a gentleman at the wheel wearing a Spanish uniform. Based from the stripes on his forearm, he was Spain's first mate._

_"I'm sorry, senior, but there was a rock we had to avoid. Unless you want to abandon the Asunción and swim the rest of the way."_

_"Gracias, no gracias, Diego."_

_"That ends that then," England said amused._

_And then the two nations started laughing hard._


	8. Chapter 8

                America woke up with something poking his head. When turning to find the source of it, there was nothing there. He was reminded of those times in his childhood where he would hear things that weren't there, things that go bump in the night. England would give the explanation that it was one of the fairies or some after effect of one of his spells. At the time, America believed it, but that was because he was a naive little child. Since he got older, he knew better.

                And then, of course, he was proven wrong. A mint-green bunny flopped into his lap and proceeded to rub its head in America's palm. "The hell…?" America reached for his glasses to see if his vision was playing tricks on him. The green bunny was a green bunny.

                "That would be flying mint bunny," a voice stated. America turned; Wales was sitting down at the table, a mug in his hand and a newspaper in front of him. "He doesn't bite. At least not hard."

                As a response, flying mint bunny smiled up at America.

                "That's good to hear," America said slowly. He couldn't help but feel he had seen this creature somewhere before…

                The bunny moved on over to Canada. It rubbed its nose on Canada's nose and it looked really cute. America expected Canada to freak out about the bunny when he woke up, but he didn't. Instead, Canada calmly petted it on the head as if it wasn't odd to have a flying, green colored bunny wake you up like a cat. America sometimes wondered how Canada could be so calm about everything.

                America got up and stretched. "What time is it?" he asked once he was a bit more awake.

                "Almost 8," Wales said, not looking up from the paper, "We'll be going once Scotland gets back. He's gone to get his van."

                America went over to start making coffee, but realized there wasn't a coffee maker. He stood there for a few moments, getting over the fact that England did not have a coffee maker. He thought that is was a standard kitchen appliance like a toaster; obviously not.

                "Instant only," Wales explained, still not looking up from the paper. "Boil some water, add in power. Mix. Power's in the cupboard right in front of you. The water should still be hot from when I made myself tea earlier."

                America would have told Wales off, saying that he knew how to make instant coffee, but he was surprised as to how Wales knew what America was doing and thinking. "Dude, that's creepy."

                "What is?" Wales looked up this time and glanced around the kitchen.

                "Can you, like, read minds?"                

                "Oh, that," Wales said like it was no big deal, "You could say that. I've gotten good at reading people."

                America felt the side of the kettle; it was slightly above lukewarm temperature, not good for any form of hot drink. He turned the kettle back on, then took out a mug and put some coffee powder in it as he waited for the water to heat back up. Taliesin flew up onto the counter and looked at America. America looked back in a sneering way, which got him a flame to the face. America crashed into the wall to make sure he wasn't burnt by Taliesin's flames.

                "Taliesin," Wales said, "Play nice."

                Taliesin blew some black smoke from his nose, then hopped over to Wales and curled up on his lap. Canada had gotten up by this point and was also at the table, reading something on his phone with flying mint bunny hovering around his head. He had a concerned look on his face. "Something wrong, Canada?" America asked.

                "Oh, no, well, sort of. I'm getting a new boss…"

                "Dude, that's cool."

                "Yes," Canada admitted, "But that means I have to explain to her the whole nations thing."

                "It's not that bad of a conversation, dude," America said, shrugging it off.

                "I'm just tired explaining it all the time," Canada said, turning off the screen. "Most everyone thinks it's a joke or a trick until the previous one explains the situation. And sometimes they aren't even around. Those are the worst times."

                Northern Ireland came into the room. "Hey, um, Scotty's back, and I need help getting England into some fresh clothes. All I can find are his dress shirts and I think it be better to get him into something more comfortable, less formal."

                "Let's see what we can do," Wales said, "England likes hiding his sweatshirts, I can tell you that. America, can you help out? You're the strongest out of all of us."

                "Scotty's stronger," Northern Ireland pointed out.

                "I doubt it," America said grinning.

                "That's a conversation for the car ride," Wales said, putting a pin into that debate.

 

                Scotland's van was black and could sit up to 8 people comfortably. The only odd thing about it was the license plate; namely it had the peace flag on it instead of the English flag. This was introduced a while back when plates started being developed. Most police crews knew about the plate and knew to just let the car pass. Only a handful actually knew what the plate meant and even fewer understood the circumstances of that fact. The less normal people knew about the personified nations thing, the better.

                Scotland smoked on his cigarette as he waited for the others to come down. The first being Ireland. He was alone and looked annoyed at something. His green eye was glowing. This wasn't completely unusual; Ireland's green eye sometimes would stay glowing even after a spell has been casted. Same with Northern Ireland, but with his blue eye.

                "You've got to be kidding me," Ireland muttered covering the eye with his hand when Scotty spoke up about it.

                Scotland pulled out an eye patch and handed it to Ireland, who refused.

                "Just take it, will ye?" Scotland said, rolling his eyes. "It's not like it's bewitched."

                Ireland grudgingly took the eye patch and put it on.

                "You're still angry at us," Scotland stated.

                "Yes."

                "About North?"

                "And the plantations. And the civil war. And everything else!"

                "If there is a person to be angry with, its England, not me and Wales."

                "It doesn't matter really. Your names were on those documents. And it was your people who helped with planting as well."

                "It does, actually. Mum doesn't like it."

                "Is that so?" Ireland didn't look impressed. "And she just happens to tell you this now?"

                "Nay, she's been telling me this for years. I didn't tell you because you wouldn't talk to me nor would you listen to what I had to say. Now that you and North are together again, its about time you heard."

                "And you think I can just forgive and  _forget_  at the drop of a hat? You must be joking," Ireland said miffed.

                Scotland waved a hand to one side. He knew full well that Ireland saw events of the past fairly frequently; it was a part of his magic, the bit he had no control of whatsoever. "Alright, but don't come running to me if Mum starts following you around and causing havoc in your life."

                "She won't," Ireland grumbled, "She never does. She only comes to you."

                'She might now,' Scotland thought, glancing to the sky. "Look, Ireland, what…"

                Everyone else came out at that moment. America was carrying England on his back.

                "Is that a sweatshirt?" Scotland asked, after seeing that England was wearing a grey colored hoodie instead of the dress shirt that Scotland left him in.

                "Found it hidden at the bottom of his closet," Wales said, "I'm glad he kept it."

                "Is that the one that you gave him a few years ago?" A few years ago, Wales gave a sweatshirt to England that said, "Wales," and had the Welsh flag on it. England threw it back at Wales after opening it, asking (and quote) "When the bloody hell would I ever use this?" Scotland had just assumed that England got rid of it all together.

                Wales nodded.

                "Right, I take shotgun," Ireland said, and got into the vehicle without another word.

                America, along with England, and Canada took the very back of the van, sitting England in between the two of them, his head resting on Canada's shoulder. Taliesin also headed back there, curling up in England's lap. Wales and North took the middle seats; Wales behind Scotland and Northern Ireland behind his twin. Flying mint bunny sat in between them, since Taliesin already claimed England. Once everyone was settled in, Scotland started the van and hit the road.

* * *

 

                Getting out of London was a hassle. It always was during that time of day, what with all the traffic trying to get into the city. Scotland was hoping to get out before all of that, but no such luck.

                Once they were on the open road, traffic went by smoothly. Ireland spoke up once Northern Ireland started talking about something to do with his leprechauns. "As you were saying before?" The grumpy Irishman was slouched in his chair, looking at Scotland expectantly.

                It took Scotland a moment to figure out what Ireland meant. "What are you looking for from us?"

                "I don't know what you mean." Ireland moved his head to the left, so that he didn't have to look at Scotland. He could get lost with the slow change from suburb to the English country side.

                "You know exactly what I mean." Scotland wished he wasn't driving so he could have looked directly at Ireland. "You wouldn't be here if it didn't help you in some way."

                Ireland was quiet for a few minutes. "It's not like you can help me directly."

                "Try me."

                "I, alone, have to sort out my history. This isn't something even North can help with so don't even say you can."

                "Oh, hell, you took the fucking words right out of my mouth," Scotland said sarcastically. When Scotland glanced over at Ireland, he didn't look amused by the comment. "Fine, you have history problems. Big deal, we all do right now. That still doesn't explain why you're here. You can soul search on your own better than with us."

                Ireland didn't answer for a while. He was shooting up magic in the form of shamrocks that disappeared at an instant. He always did that when he was thinking. "I'm only here for North's sake."

                "You sure that's all?"

                "...and it's a bit easier when the people responsible for part of my history are nearby. For... just in case something comes up that I've forgotten... like I ever would..."

                "So you admit that you _do_ need our help in some way?" Scotland said with a smirk on his face. It had been a very long time since Ireland admitted to needing some form of help.

                "Yes, now leave it," Ireland said quickly, and turning back to the window.

                "Don't you sound all defensive."

                "Shut up." Ireland punched Scotland in the shoulder.

                "You need our help for once," Scotland said in a sing song voice. No, he wasn't going to let this go any time soon.

                "I said shut up!" Another punch, this time it did kinda hurt.

                Scotland grinned. They haven't bickered like actual brothers in years. He would have continued on (he was having way too much fun with this), but a police car came up behind them, sirens wailing. Calmly, Scotland pulled over, expecting them to pass. They didn't; they pulled over behind Scotland. So the nation fully stopped the van.

                "What do they want?" Wales asked, noting the police vehicle.

                "You'd know better than I, soothsayer," Scotland remarked, getting his human ID ready. 'This better not take long.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: The name on Scotland's card is William Wallis. Points to those who get that historical reference. That does not mean to say that it's his human name. It's just an alias, one he created after the historical man himself passed away. The nations have come up with many alias over the years to protect themselves. The only ones with actual human names that they identify with at the present moment (for the sake of this series) are the the main eight, Canada, Romano, Spain, and Prussia.


	9. Chapter 9

_The creature appeared right in front of England, once again bigger than he saw it last. It had to crouch over to be able to fit into the room. Its ugly, grey, alien head leering at the nation. England opened his spell book. He was going to show America how a true gentlemen does the job. "Sorry, but if I don't kill you and go back alive, I won't set the hero a good example." England started casting the spell. He could feel his magic swirl around him, powering with each revolution._

_"England!" America shouted from behind._

_England sighed annoyed, "Tsk, you're already here? Just shut up and watch just how great my powers are!"_

_"Please, don't do this! I'm sorry, ok?"_

_England ignored him; this was to teach him no one messed with the might of the Great British Nation; how he could be a hero too and it wasn't just America's job._

_"P-please...stop..." America said in a quiet desperation._

_The British nation let the magic grow for two more seconds. "This will be your end!" he shouted as he released the spell. It hit the creature strait in the heart and it fell backwards to the ground. The lights suddenly went out. Something went wrong. The creature was destroyed, England could feel that, but…_

                England's head fell forward and he woke up with a start. He was in a car… odd. Was the mansion only a dream then? He wished it was and that whole thing was a product of his twisted imagination. He also wished that his head would clear up. 'Why does it feel so foggy?'

                He was sitting in between America and Canada, both of whom were staring at the front of the car. England followed their gaze and saw that Scotland was behind the wheel, though he wasn't currently driving.

                "I'm telling you for the last time," he could hear Scotland saying, "The plate is a legal one. The number should appear on the registrar."

                "It is on the registrar, but not under your name. Now will you get out of the car or do I have to make you?" 'An officer?' England thought, looking behind him. Indeed, there was a police car there, and from the plates, it was from the main building. 'He must be new.' Most high ups left Scotland's car alone due to the plates.

                "Scotty," England said quietly. He could feel his consciousness slipping into oblivion. "Use the ambassador's card. They should…"  _England slipped into darkness._

_"England, you're ok? Right?" England could hear America ask._

_"I'm fine, America." England thought he had his eyes open, but all he could see was complete darkness._

_"Aaahh… I thought I was going to have a heart attack. Anyway, I can see now that you really are strong. You can lecture me later, though I don't look forward to it…" America said, his voice moving away as he said it. He sounded very revealed._

_"Y-yeah." England put his hands to his eyes to see if there was a blindfold blocking his view. Nothing._

_"Don't just stand there! Help me look for my glasses!"_

_England stood there in the darkness, checking, double checking, triple checking that his eyes were actually open. 'It wasn't this dark before, was it?'_

_"There they are. They were right next to you. Why didn't you pick them up for me?"_

_"What? Oh… yeah… is that so?"_

_"England? D-don't tell me you…" England felt a hand on his shoulder. It gripped tight, so tight that England almost let out a yelp of pain. "I remember that a long, long time ago… many loops ago, I asked you this same question. How many fingers… am I holding up? You can answer, can't you?"_

_"I'm sorry, America," England said quietly, putting on a fake smile, "I can… no longer see…"_

 

_England started crying. He could feel the ship rocking once again as he woke up. The dream was of the future, yet it felt more real than that. Like a memory..._

_"Hey, Inglaterra," Spain called out after a time, "What's wrong?"_

_England looked up at the Spaniard's face. It was full of concern. "A dream…" England said, whipping his tears away._

_"Must have been bad. I've never seen you cry before."_

_England looked down at his hands. He was terrified. What was real, what was fiction, what was dream? Why was he even questioning this in the first place? This, what he was in right now, had to be reality, right?_

_"I had a weird dream this morning, too," Spain said, sitting down next to England, "My little one… Romano… well, in the dream he was all grown up but he still had that curl of his, that's how I knew it was him… he looked almost dead and I was protecting him from these creatures in a library of all places. I got injured, but I continued on until they were all dead. When I checked up on him again, he… was gone… not dead though. His eyes were blank when he looked up at me, like he didn't recognize me at all. I still can't help but think that I have seen it all happen before."_

_"A spell backfired on me," England said after a time, "I think I used too much magic. It blinded me. I could hear America's despair… I just…" England remember the other part, in a vessel unlike any other. A horseless carriage. England took a calming breath to focus on the situation. "There's something strange going on here." Futuristic things that felt like past occurrences were not normal._

_"So you've caught on too," Spain said, "It's gotten to the point where I have no idea what is real or not."_

_"So… all of this could be a dream?" England said, not sure whether or not he was joking in this reply. He didn't really believe it himself, but something told him that his statement was right._

_Spain shrugs. "If you take a look outside, you should be able to see the coast. We'll be landing into port soon, so you should get ready." Spain left the room, no doubt to get his men ready to land._

_England got up and looked out of the window. The waters were calm and the sun was slowly slipping into the sea. 'Something happened,' he thought, 'Someone must have put a curse on me; that's why all this turmoil though these realistic dreams. But who? And why get Spain mixed up in this as well?'_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have noticed, I took some creative liberties with the Hetaoni scene. I originally wrote up that whole bit from memory, then actually looked at what was said in the game. I meshed up the two to get what has been written above.


	10. Chapter 10

                "That was weird," Northern Ireland said once they got a good distance away from the officers, "Usually they see the license plates and just leave us alone, not come after us." After Scotland showed the first officer his ambassador card, the guy had to get his buddy, and then they had to call into the main office who finally told them to let Scotland go. The officers looked a bit embarrassed and explained they were new on the job.

                "Some criminal stole one of the official cars, that's why," Scotland said, "I remember hearing about it yesterday. I didn't think that they'd still be looking for the guy though." The officers explained that as well, though more privately to Scotland. They were still looking for that missing car. Scotland told them good luck, and he meant it. It was going to be close to impossible finding that car at that point in time; the thief probably changed the plates.

                Northern Ireland looked in the back seat, where Canada, America, and England were. England was passed out again, which was for the better. But that one instance was most helpful. The ambassador's card was one they all had, giving their nation information. It was used mainly for conference meetings and stuff of the sort. Under normal circumstances, that card would have brought more confusion, which was why Scotland used the alias one first.

                "How did he know the situation?" Canada asked. "If he is stuck mentally as a toddler…"

                "Memory is a fluid thing," Wales said, "No doubt his state of mind will go back and forth from different points of time."

                "Great, so it's a guessing game then?" Ireland groaned.

                "Should be fun," Northern Ireland said.

                "You can find the rainbow in anything," Ireland commented, turning to look at his brother, "Can't you?"

                "You can too if you actually tried," Northern Ireland pointed out.

 

                They got to the house in the middle of the afternoon. It was a half an hour's walk from the closest village. There was a forest nearby, and an incredible view of the country side. Taliesin and flying mint bunny were the first out of the van and started running around. Being cooped up for so long wasn't fun for either of them.

                Wales headed into the house first, with America carrying England right behind him. "There's a room here that would be good to put him in," Wales said as they walked, "It's plain, and you have to go through a different room to get in there."

                "That sounds weird."

                "I wasn't the one who designed the place. But I'm glad it's here. What I'm thinking of doing is having someone out in the first room at night. England isn't known for sleepwalking, but he might wake up at some point in the night and get confused. I just want to make sure he doesn't get himself hurt."

                Wales noticed that America had been pretty quiet since coming. He excluded the car ride because it's hard to keep still for so long without exploding in some form. America and Northern Ireland found their entertainment through singing, worse choice ever because apparently America can't sing. Wales also had noted from before that something was bothering America about England's condition. It was bothering America even worse now.

                "Is there something you want to ask?" Wales said.

                "No… why?" America said quickly.

                "It just seems something's bothering you."

                America was going to say something, but changed his mind, probably remembering that Wales could read people uncannily well."I never thought that England would stoop this low," America said quietly.

                'So, even after all this time, you still look up to your older brother,' Wales thought to himself. When they got to the room, there was someone already in there. He had green eyes, dark brown hair, and a devilish grin, as well as a plaster on his nose.

                "Talk about timing, Wales. I was about to call you," he said, then he noticed America, "G'Day, America!"

                "Yo, Australia, dude. I didn't know you'd be here."

                "And neither does anyone else." Australia gave a wink. "Wales told me England was in trouble and I decided to come over. I figured you'd come out here to the old house. Talk about a family reunion."

                America carefully dumped England on the bed and put the covers over him.

                "He's in a state, isn't he?" Australia commented.

                "You have no idea," America stated. "He already woke up once and thought he was a kid again."

                "Seriously? What the hell then is this ambrosia stuff?"

                Wales sighed. He had told Australia already, but he forgot this "adopted" (and by adopted, meaning taken over) child of England had a very short attention span. "I'll explain again later. For now, you should go tell everyone that you're here."

                Australia left the room, and America followed him. Long lost brothers, reunited once again. Wales made sure that England was completely covered by the blanket before following Australia and America downstairs.

_Is there something I should know about him?_

                Wales stopped in his tracks and grabbed hold to the nearest stable object to root himself in his actual surroundings.

_He thought I was Queen Victoria and started talking about things I had no idea about. It was a good thing that I got bailed out by someone else, but my question still stands. Is there something I need to know about Arthur?_

                Wales breathed deeply. These were pieces of the future. His vision was a bit disjointed. He could still see he was in the bedroom, but in front of him was a small bit from the kitchen area downstairs with a girl looking intently at him.

_He's delusional, that's all; he thinks he's in the 1800's. We're going to be taking him to hospital in a day or so._

_Really? Because he asked me once if my line went back to her, saying that I looked very much like Victoria. It sounded like he actually knew her._

                "Wales?" America's voice asked. "Is everything alright?"

                "I'm fine."

_Who exactly is Arthur? How could he have known her and be no more than a few years older than me?_

                "What's with your eyes? They're glowing."

                The future scene dissipated and Wales could actually see America. His face looked worried. "It's nothing. This happens once in a while."

                America raised his eyebrows in questioning.

                "Come on, we should join up with the others," Wales said, leaving the room.

                "So, dude, what was that?" It was obvious by the look on America's face that he wasn't going to let it go.

                "A vision of the future," Wales said simply. It wasn't anything big really; he had visions frequently. At least he wasn't completely integrated in this one. Sometimes visions could completely overtake his senses and immerse him into that world. Those were the scariest in Wales' opinion.

                "You can use magic?" America asked.

                Wales nodded, "We all have the ability to use magic, though only I alone get these future visions."

                "What was it about?"

                Wales shook his head, "I'm not entirely sure myself right now. These things become clearer as time wares on." Not entirely true. He wasn't ever positive of the future, but he learned how to deduce a situation from the clues given (hence why he could easily read people). He figured that someone ran into England on accident in his current state, but why a stranger here in this house?

 

                Australia went downstairs. He looked back to tell America something, but found that the other nation wasn't there. Australia just shrugged and continued on. He headed to the kitchen area, where everyone else was now congregated. Scotland was the only one standing up, his back to the doorway. Australia grinned mischievously.

                Australia took out his boomerang that he always carried with him and proceeded to jump up on Scotland's back, using the boomerang like a knife on his neck. Except he forgot he was now almost as tall as Scotland and definitely as strong as him, so ended up tackling him, sending them both to the floor.

                "Fuck!" Scotland let out as he fell to the ground.

                Everyone jumped out of their seats in alarm. Canada let out a yelp of "Maple!" and Ireland had pulled out a gun.

                "Oh, it's just Australia," Ireland said, putting the gun away.

                "What in the name of Crìost are you doing, Aussie?" Scotland asked, getting up.

                "I came to see England," Australia explained simply.

                "I mean attacking me."

                "Oh, that, right. I didn't mean for you to fall. Sometimes I forget how much I've grown." Australia smiled and laughed a bit.

                Scotland didn't look at all impressed. "You cannot be serious," he said, shaking his head.

                Wales and America came into the room. Once everyone was settled in, Wales reexplained the situation to Australia.

                "We need to have someone in the room outside of England's room," Wales stated once he was done, "So that someone can be with him at all times."

                "So he doesn't hurt himself, right?" Northern Ireland asked.

                Wales nodded.

                "I'll take first watch," Australia volunteered.

                "That wouldn't be wise," Ireland said.

                "Oh, so you would rather take it?" Scotland asked, smiling in Ireland's direction.

                "I never said that." Ireland gave Scotland a harsh face.

                "I see no problem in Australia taking watch," Northern Ireland said.

                "Neither do I," Scotland agreed.

                "All in favor?" Wales asked.

                Everyone but Ireland raised their hands. "Fine," Ireland said, getting up and leaving.

                "Poor Ire," Northern Ireland said once Ireland had gone.

                "Does that happen often? Ireland being the odd one out." America asked.

                "Not really," Scotland said, "When we were young, he was the one to come up with all the pranks and be the one to give out all the ideas. As we got older, that power was more balanced out, seeing as we became a bit more scattered. It just looks like now he never gets his way with things."

                Wales raised an eyebrow at Scotland. "Ireland was the mastermind behind  _all_  the pranks? Really?"

                "Most," Scotland corrected himself, "I'll take credit on the times we sneaked up on you in the middle of the night and scared the shit out of you."

_It was a full moon, the light shining bright upon the land. And Scotland had finally found Wales' new hiding place. This time, it was deep in the forest by a pond in a tree. Wales had wrapped himself in his cloak and leaning against the inside bark. Almost a perfect hiding place; Scotland wouldn't have noticed it if it weren't for the giant dragon that never seemed to leave Wales' side. Taliesin was flying above the forest at that moment, perfect opportunity to strike._

_Scotland leaped down from the tree he was in for scouting purposes. Usually, Ireland would join him on these excursions, but he was having some issues back home. Scotland was alone that night._

_He stealthily walked up to the unsuspecting Wales, making sure he was out of sight of the sky. Scotland got right up to Wales and looked at him for a moment, just to make sure Wales was actually asleep and not faking it. Wales had been doing that recently, and it pissed off Scotland to no end. Where was the fun in scaring him when he was expecting it? Wales must have been waiting for some surprise attack, for his sword was drawn. But his hand wasn't clutching it tightly; the blade was lying across Wales' lap with his dominate hand resting relaxed on the hilt. Wales' breathing was slow and regular. He was actually asleep then._

_Scotland quickly took Wales' sword and threw it into the pond. He could fish it out later, no big deal. Then, Scotland moved behind Wales so that his left hand was around Wales' waist and his sword was positioned against Wales' neck._

_"I've got you," Scotland said in a menacing tone, and he couldn't help but smirk as he said it._

_Wales shot open his eyes, making to move, but he noticed the sharp blade at his throat. He clenched his dominant hand, but realized the sword wasn't there._

_"Looks like you've left yourself defenseless yet again."_

                Scotland had a proud look on his face, "Those were some fun times."

                Wales shook his head, "And yet you still wonder why I have trust issues with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crìost is Christ in Scottish Gaelic.  
> Also, plaster is a band-aid, or bandage, or whatever your word for it is.


	11. Chapter 11

_England walked into the tent and sighed, tiredly. Based on the situation, tomorrow was going to be fun. He wasn't even being sarcastic either. The plan for tomorrow was to once again do battle with Scotland's army. Their last battle was an easy win for England, and so he had all the confidence in the world that this battle too was going to be another easy win. Though, the first military movement for tomorrow was to get the entire army across this bridge. Getting an entire army across any bridge was an annoying bit of tactical work._

_"Sir?" a young soldier asked as he entered the tent. England nodded and silently beckoned him in. "The Earl of Surrey asked me to retrieve tomorrow's movements," the soldier stated. It was obvious from his tone of voice he was nervous. No doubt he had heard rumors about England._

_"Yes, though between you and me he doesn't need to know anything until tomorrow." England sat down and wrote out his plan for tomorrow's battle, then handed the paper to the soldier. "Tell him to be up by sunrise. We'll start the march then."_

_The soldier saluted then left the tent._

_England laid down on the ground and looked up at the ceiling of the tent. Even though he had a good feeling about tomorrow's battle, he still couldn't shake off a feeling of dread. Perhaps it was because of Scotland's face when he left last battle. It looked as though he had a plan, and not a good one at that. England put it aside, closed his eyes, and turned to his side._

                England opened his eyes with the moonlight in his face. Odd, he was in the middle of a war on the eve of battle in a tent. Why was he now indoors in common clothing? He was wearing... a sweatshirt... England knew it was called that, but he hadn't seen one before let alone wear one.

                He sat up slowly and looked out of the nearby window. There was a little garden outside that was completely surrounded by the building. There was a giant tree there and flowers all around. The night fairies were out dancing in the moonlight, their magic causing the flowers to glow in the darkness. He smiled for a moment, forgetting the war. Fairy magic was always something to view and appreciate.

                England got out of bed. He wondered if he had been captured during the night. That would explain everything. He grabbed the door handle and twisted it to open the door, which obeyed his silent command easily.

                'Well, that was easy,' he thought. If he wasn't suspicious before, he was now.

                "Oi, England," a voice said.

                England looked at the source of the voice, which was a tall, green eyed individual. England swore he had never seen this person before, yet the eyes were familiar.

                "Something wrong, mate?"

                'Mate?' England thought, 'What the hell is that supposed to mean?' "Where am I?"

                "In your country. As for exactly where, I have no idea. I don't do so well with geography in other countries, even yours."

                "I'm sorry, but do I know you?" England feels like he should know this person... why?

                "Maybe. Do you recognize me?"

                England thought about it for a moment. The guy did look familiar, but only in the eyes. He knew he had seen those eyes before. "No," England said at last.

                "Then no, but I do know you. Tell me, what do you last remember?"

                The suspicion in England's mind continued to grow. He should run, but at the same time, he needed some information as to what was going on. "I was in Scotland's land," he said slowly, "Do you know what I am doing here? I'm supposed to be fighting a war."

                "Yeah… that… right… You were taken over here… for... safety."

                'I have a feeling that was made up,' England thought. "And so who is going to command the troops?"

                "The general? Who else?"

                England groaned. He was the general, even though as far as everyone else was concerned it was the Earl. "Look, I need to get back up to Scotland, and I'm going to do so, with or without your help."

                "Determined, aren't you?" the guy said, looking amused, "Alright, what if I told you the battle has already passed and that you were brought back to your home because you were defeated?"

                England was not impressed by this explanation; the battle that was to commence tomorrow was to be an easy victory. "I should have a memory of that then."

                "Maybe," the guy shrugged, "I'm just stating the truth."

               'You are obviously lying,' England thought. He was annoyed with this guy. "Who are you?"

                "Australia."

                "And you know who I am?"

                "Yep."

                There was only one explanation; England was convinced there could only be one explanation. "...can you see into the future?"

                Australia looked at England in surprise. "No… why do you ask?"

                "You have to be. I've never met you." England could feel his mind becoming foggier. 'There's not much time.' He ran out of the room. He came to a long hallway that he recognized; this was his house. He knew how to get out of this place. He turned left and ran as hard as he could. That didn't last long because he ran into someone. Looking up, it was Scotland. He was wearing his land's tartan.

                "And what do you think you're doing?" Scotland asked.

                'So I am a prisoner in this place,' England thought, his anger rising. He leaped up and tried to tackle Scotland down, but England's strength was not at its best. Scotland grabbed him by the back of his collar, and suspended him a few centimeters off the ground. England was wriggling around, putting up a struggle, which reminded him a bit of his younger days when he was still a toddler. Scotland would pick him up in the exact same way and hang him up on a tree branch, leaving him there until either he wriggled enough to fall to the ground (which hurt for the record), Wales or Britannia found him, or (after the first few times of finding him in that state) Britannia forcing Scotland to take him down.

                After a while, England gave up. Scotland dropped him on the ground and said, "Better?"

                "The hell I am. You kidnapped me!" England stood up in a flash and pointed a finger at Scotland; promptly after, he fell back down to the ground landing on his butt.

                Scotland rolled his eyes. "Like that's something new."

                England literally growled as he stood back up again, slowly this time. He could feel his knees wobble underneath him. Why was he so weak? Had he been drugged? That would explain the fogginess of his head.

                "He thinks he's at war with you," Australia said.

                "Excuse me, I  _am_  at war with him!" England snapped at Australia.

                "You always are, aren't you?" Scotland said, "Except I always win."

                "Not this time, Scotty," England grinning maliciously, "I have you cornered."

                "You sound really sure of that. How positive are you?"

                The look on Scotland's face made England take a step back. It was the same look Scotland had riding away from their last battle: a look of cunningness. "Very sure," England said unconvincingly. He started remembering the battle; Scotland ambushed his men on Sterling bridge, a bloodbath, that ended with him being found by the young soldier in the aftermath. England closed his eyes and felt himself fall forward to the ground.

_England found himself at the railing of the ship, overlooking the water below. It was almost as if he was trying to hurl himself overboard. In a panic, he pushed himself away from the edge, falling onto the deck._

_"Did you really want to go for a swim there?" Spain asked coming over to him. He had a grin on his face, meaning he was only joking._

_"No, I…" England walked back over to the edge and looked at the water. 'How did I end up over here?'_

_"You look confused." The grin disappeared. "Something wrong?"_

_"I don't remember how I got here. At all. I was just back in my homeland… I…" England fell to his knees. He realized what was going on. He thought of it before, just now in fact. Drugged. He was drugged._

_"Well, after breakfast, we went on shore and explored a bit. You fainted from the heat, so I brought you back here."_

_"I don't feel well." It explained everything. The surrealism and the markings he discovered a few days ago._

_"Heat stroke, probably. Here, drink this." Spain handed England a canteen. England took a swig of it. It was room temperature, but it was something to sooth his dry throat._

_"You… I think you're right. About what you were saying yesterday."_

_"That this is a dream world?"_

_England nodded. "Something happened to us in the real world and brought us here."_

_"There was an explosion," Spain said after a time._

_"So you're in a coma because of that blast?"_

_"Yeah, it sounds right. Though I can't remember what I was doing. It was something really important that I was doing for a friend."_

_England nodded. "At first I thought someone cursed me."_

_Spain laughed. "You would say that, wouldn't you?"_

_England rolled his eyes. "But then I noticed this." England rolled up his sleeve and revealed marks and bruises._

_"You were drugged by someone?"_

_England shook his head. "These are self-inflicted. I think I overdosed on something. I don't know what. Nothing I know of would cause all these dreams to occur."_

_Spain was silent for a moment. "Why? Why would you do that to yourself?"_

_England took a deep breath. "I needed an escape." 'But that doesn't sound right, there has to be another reason.'_

_"Don't we all?" Spain took a closer look at the marks. "Those don't look so good. They might get infected."_

_"I think they've been taken care of," England said with assurance, "I think my family is looking after me."_

_"That's good. I can hear Romano and Italy's voices sometimes, so I think I am too."_

_"Italy? I thought the twins were separated. Unless there is something you aren't telling me."_

_"The brothers are united in present day I believe," Spain said, his eyes closed to try to recall. The look on his face is dead serious. "We need to get out of this dream world. It does us no good pretending like this."_

_"Alright, how?"_

_"I don't know, amigo. I just don't know."_


	12. Chapter 12

                America came down to the kitchen where Australia and Canada were sitting. Canada was staring at his mug and Australia was reading something on his phone.

                "Where's Iggy?" America asked, sitting down.

                Australia grinned, "You're still calling him that?"

                "Only when he's not around. He still hates it when I call him that."

                "I bet. He's banned me from calling him Pommy. At least with that one, I can understand; you're nickname for him isn't offensive. Anyway, he's outside in the courtyard, with everyone else. Expect Scotland, though I have no idea where he's at. Oh," his phone started ringing playing his national anthem, "I have to take this." Australia stood up and walked outside the room.

                "And how are you doing?" America asked his brother.

                Canada didn't answer; he just kept staring at his mug.

                "Canada. Earth to Canada." America waved a hand in front of Canada.

                Canada blinked and looked up. "Sorry, I… was just remembering something."

                "Important?"

                "Not really…" America wasn't convinced; if it wasn't important, Canada wouldn't have been staring at his mug like it was the most interesting thing in the room. "America," Canada said slowly, "Do you remember playing with the fairies?"

                "You mean the imaginary friends that we came up with? Sure do."

                Canada didn't say anything further; instead he got up to wash his cup. Kumajiro got off his chair and followed.

                "Ok, I swear to God that thing wasn't real," America said. He felt like he was missing something.

                "He always was, America," Canada said sighing.

                "But he never moved."

                "That's because I was holding him." Canada turned the mug upside-down to let out the water, but for some reason he kept shaking it as if there was something else in there that wasn't coming out.

                "And he didn't blink."

                "You were looking away." Canada's grip on the mug slipped and it fell into the sink. It didn't break, it just landed with a tinkling thud. "Merde," Canada muttered worriedly. He picked up the mug again and looked in the sink with a panicked look on his face.

                Australia came back into the room, "I'm getting a new boss, apparently," he said, throwing himself back in his chair.

                "You too?" Canada asked, looking up. In his right hand was some doll, which confused America as to where Canada got... the doll started moving about...

                'That isn't a doll, is it?' America thought.

                "Yeah. It was kinda unexpected that this person got in too. Oh," Australia turned to America, "So guess what happened last night? Scotland totally owned England."

                "What? Seriously?" America asked, taking his focus away from the creature in Canada's hand.

                "England was up?" Canada asked alarmed.

                "Yeah, he thought he was in the middle of some war in Scotland. Man, he was a hostile little thing. I forgot that he can put up a pretty big fight."

                "Did he recognize you?" Canada asked.

                "Nope, not a bit. Kinda sad, but that's just how it is. You should have seen what Scotland did. He picked up England like a mother with her kitten."

                America laughed; he could see it now. He turned to say something to Canada, but he had already left the room.

                "So, America, fill me in: are you dating anyone?"

                America thought about it for a moment, "If you promise not to tell anyone, I'll let you in on something."

                Australia grinned, "I'm all ears, mate."

 

                Canada came out into the courtyard nervously. He wasn't looking forward to actually running into England if he was still in that hostile mood. But he did know that he had to see him eventually. That, and Canada needed to be outside. The car ride yesterday took a lot out of him. Canada was used to being out in the fresh air.

                In his hand was a fairy that landed into his mug this morning and wouldn't leave until he dropped the darned thing. She was looking very put off, but at least she was ok. Canada was worried for a moment he killed her. Once he was outside, Canada placed her on one of the flowers. The fairy stared back at him accusingly for a moment before flying away.

                Wales was under the big tree next to Ireland, watching Northern Ireland and England running around the area, chasing the fairies. It was play, and Canada calmed down a bit seeing the smile on England's face. Those two soon collapsed to the ground and started picking the flowers that grew all along the courtyard.

                "Nice day, isn't it?" Wales said as Canada sat next to him.

                Canada nodded, though he didn't realize the weather until Wales commented on it. It was a sunny day with only a few clouds in the sky.

                "It better rain soon," Ireland said, "Northern Ireland's getting anxious."

                "What for?" Canada asked.

                "There is a healing ritual he wants to do to help England," Ireland explained, "But it needs to be raining for him to do it."

                "I don't think I've seen this one," Wales said.

                "You haven't," Ireland agreed, "He usually does it at home, and only if I'm around."

                "This should be interesting then." They sat there in silence for a while, watching view around them. Northern Ireland came running over holding a flower wreath.

                "You guys should really join us," Northern Ireland said, panting, "We're making flower wreaths."

                "I'm fine here," Wales said.

                "As am I," Ireland said, looking away.

                Northern Ireland put the wreath on top of Wales' head, then turned to Ireland, "No you're not. Come on." Northern Ireland grabbed his twin's hands and pulled him over to where England was waiting with another wreath of flowers. He had a look of innocence on his face, something that Canada had never seen before. England put the wreath on Ireland's head, which Ireland didn't like one bit, but he didn't take it off either. Northern Ireland was starting to weave another one, when Wales spoke up.

                "Scotland was telling me about your lack of magic." Wales took off his flower wreath and put it on top of Kumajiro's head.

                Canada thought back to his past. He had remembered this one time he was trying magic from England's book. "It just… never worked."

                "So you remember something now," Wales said, "England was the same with his magic; when you get older, your magic changes with you. As a child, you can do anything, but once you get older, you're more able to practice magic if it falls under your style. From there, you might also be able to do other types of spells. It took me a while to figure out what England's style was. I'm still wondering why his is black magic."     

                "What about you?"

                "I can see into the future. Most of the time it just happens out of my control. Um… Scotland speaks with the dead, and that's about all he does. Ireland does charms and North uses healing. Both twins can look into the past, though Ireland is forced into it more, like I am with the future."

                "...England can time travel."

                Wales raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

                Canada hid his face into Kumajiro's fur. He didn't want to talk about the mansion; he wanted to forget all of that horror entirely. "I've seen him use it."

                "Is this about that time he disappeared for a month without a trace?"

                Canada nodded. 'He is good.'

                "Really?" Australia appeared out of the blue, "What happened?" He sat down in front of Canada with a look of extreme interest in his face.

                Canada shook his head.

                "England didn't explain it to me very much either," Wales said, "He'd only say that it was a horrible experience It took a while for him to be himself again. When he came back, he went strait to Northern Ireland for healing. North told me that England's magic was broken, like it had been taken away and given back too many times. Please, you don't have to go into detail. I just want to know what happened."

                Canada took a deep breath. He explained how they got there in the first place, Italy's journal, England's time traveling reasons, the last time loop, and how they eventually made it out. He didn't say anything about their human pact; it was something private, they all agreed on that fact once they came out of the mansion. Ever since that time, all twelve of those nations still followed that pact as humans, national feelings aside.

                "I see," was all Wales said when Canada finished.

                "That's some seriously messed up stuff," Australia remarked.

                "America could tell you more. He can talk about that kind of thing more easily than I can."

                "I think I'll do that," Australia said, getting up. He headed out in search of America.

                Wales took out his spell book and started flipping through it. "I think I have something you can do," he explained. He stopped at one page and read it silently to himself. "Do you know how to play piano?" he eventually asked.

                Canada nodded.

                "Alright," Wales put down the spell book, "Hold out your hands, palms facing out. Good, now start playing a song like you would on a piano."

                Canada wasn't sure what that was going to do at all, but he started playing "On My Own." He imagined what it would sound like if he did have a piano there. He closed his eyes and let his imagination take a hold of him. Soon he actually heard a piano. Canada snapped open his eyes and saw that a violet light appeared where his fingertips landed. He couldn't help but smile; he faintly remembered nights when England was away and it was just himself and America in the house and they would play music and watch the lights that sprang from their fingertips.

                England came over and sat by to listen, entranced by the light; the Irish twins soon followed. Canada started singing the words to the song. When Canada was done, England said, "Do another."

                "What song?"

                "Scarborough Fair."

                "I'll join in for that one," Northern Ireland said. Ireland came too, still wearing the wreath.

                "Same," Ireland said. His face was serious, but it wasn't frowning.

                Wales looked at Ireland as if in surprise. For the rest of the afternoon, they all played music with magic, and for that moment, it felt as though nothing was wrong.

                "The nature of your magic is the hidden, the things that can't be seen easily," Wales told Canada as they headed inside later, "I'll write up a spell book for you of some spells you can start with if you want."

                "I'd like that." Canada smiled brightly. For the first time in a long time, he felt complete.

 

                "Where are we going?" America asked. Scotland was leading him through the forest. At first, it was literal; Scotland had grabbed the back of America's collar and told the younger nation to follow him without bothering to explain where the hell he was leading he. Currently, America was just following Scotland by the heels, after having gotten out of Scotland's grasp earlier.

                "You'll see when we get there."

                "But I want to know."

                "It's called Loch Uaine in Gaelic."

                "That doesn't tell me anything."

                Scotland didn't give a reply, but walked faster. America picked up his pace to stay close to Scotland. They finally reached the place, which was a lake that had an island at the center. The water looked black.

                "Loch Uaine. A place where the magic folk used to live and visit."

                "Used?"

                "Do you see any now? It's dead. Cursed."

                "Ok, so why are we here?"

                "You and your magic."

                "Excuse me?"

                "Aye, you heard me. And don't give me crap about how it doesn't exist because it does."

                "Wasn't going to," America said. He knew magic existed; he'd seen England use it often enough.

                "Good."

                "But I don't have magic. I never had."

                "But you do. Let me show you." Scotland grabbed America's right wrist and muttered something in a foreign language. America could feel a tingling sensation come from his hand. He pulled it away.

                "Don't," America said, "Even if I had magic, I want nothing to do with it. That's not my life."

                "Hey!" Australia randomly appeared. His eyes were glowing for a moment before they faded back to normal. "Took me forever to find you. What are you doing out here?"

                "He's pressing me into magic," America said, starting to leave.

                "Oh, I doubt that from Scotty. He probably wants you to realize your potential."

                "But I don't have magic," America argued.

                "Have you ever tried?" Australia asked.

                America didn't answer.

                "I didn't think I had magic either. But one day, England and I got lost and England couldn't find our way home. I suddenly could see green footsteps leading somewhere, so I followed them. They took us home. England told me later that was my magic. See, it takes different shapes based on what kind of person someone is. It's actually how I found you two."

                "If you still feel that strongly against it, I won't press you," Scotland said, "But let me tell you this: you owe this place."

                "Oh, really?" America didn't believe that for one second. He owed nothing to any bit of England's land.

                "You cursed this place. You had no idea what you were doing, but that doesn't change what has happened. No, I wasn't there. I only know based on what the ghosts have told me."

                "Ghosts?"

                Scotland nodded, "I can talk with the dead."

                America started shaking from his fear. Nevertheless, he said, "I don't remember that at all."

                "You were young."

                America shook his head and left. He didn't owe anyone anything. Except China at the moment, but that was a different kind of owing, the financial kind. Besides, this was out of his hands. He didn't have magic, or ever will. Everything about this situation spelled magic; if there was a something America could do to help, he would. But it was completely out of his hands.

 

                Scotland sighed angrily; he wasn't expecting that at all. He was hoping America's stupid hero mode would kick in, but apparently not. He hated it when he had to clean up other people's messes.

                "So…" Australia said, looking around the area, "America did this?"

                "Once…" Scotland opened his spell book and started chanting in his old tongue. His magic may be strongest with the dead, but he had a knack with lifting curses as well; it came in handy when England's spells went wrong.

                "Talk about his dark side."

                It was a hard curse to unravel, but in the end, Scotland was able to release the area. The lake turned a watery blue color and the trees had leaves on them. No doubt it would be a long time before the magical folk would trust this place again, but that was a different matter entirely and not Scotland's problem for sure.

                "You know…" Australia said after a bit, "I've never been up here before, in all my years living in that house."

                "Not that it would have made much of a difference."

                "It could have. I wasn't a quiet child."

                "Aye, I remember England talking about you and your exploits often enough. You and America were little devils by his account."

                "I like to think we still are." Australia smiled brightly like the innocent child he never was.

 

                "America?" Canada asked, opening the door to America's room. America came storming in only a few moments ago and just ran strait there. Something was up, and Canada was the only one to get to the bottom of it.

                "What, Canada?" America snapped. He wasn't in the mood to talk, that was for sure.

                "Did something happen out in the forest?"

                "Guilt tripping."

                "What?"

                "Scotland was guilt tripping me."

                "Why?"

                "How the hell should I know?"

                "Alfred," Canada said quietly, using America's human name for once. He didn't like it when America took out his anger out on him.

                "Sorry, it's just… Scotland was trying to say I had magic when I don't. Australia wasn't any help either."

                "Have you ever thought that maybe they're right?" Canada asked.

                "You believe them?"

                Canada didn't say anything at first, knowing full well the next thing he said would be important. "I remember when we were kids here, running around with the fairies of the forest and how you would give them all a light show, the best kind of all. And you turned to me once, saying that when you got a birthday, you would have a light show on that day for your people."

                "…magic sparks, right?"

                Canada nodded.

                "Fine, ok. What the hell happened then? Why can't I remember magic in my life, but you can?"

                Canada shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think we ever will know."

                America looked more sad than angry by now. He laid back on the bed and sighed.

                Canada laid down on the bed next to America, and held up his hands and started playing "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again." "Neat trick," America said smiling weakly.

                Canada nodded, but didn't say anything more. He knew why America couldn't remember, and knew that nothing could reverse the damage done.

_"America… what have you done?" Canada asked running up to his brother, who was crying by the side of a black lake._

_"I'm sorry, Canadia, I'm sorry."_

_Canada held America in comforting hug like he'd seen Wales do for England sometimes. "Shh, don't cry. Please don't cry." Canada started crying too._

_"I can't stop… I… Canadia, I'm scared… they all melted and became mutated and…" America stopped talking._

_Canada thought for a moment. "There's only one spell I know that can help you. You won't be able to remember anything about this."_

_"Do it, please."_

_"You might not be able to use magic again." He knew America well enough that not being able to use magic was going to be hard for him._

_"Canada, please… just do it."_

                Canada sighed. He remembered what happened after that too. It was a strong spell, and since he was little, he had a hard time controlling it. So the spell affected him too, though not as badly as America. Canada only meant for the memory spell to be for that day. What it ended up doing was erasing all memories of magic for America entirely. Canada got caught up with that spell, though the affect on him was not as bad, seeing as now he can remember. 

                "There was one time, we were all alone in England's house and there was a ghost chasing us. You sneaked down and got England's spell book. Together, we tried to find a spell that would banish the ghost which you did. You made me feel safe, like nothing would ever harm us." 'The first time you were called a hero...' Canada thought, 'My hero.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merde is a swear in French. I figured Canada wouldn't use "maple" all the time for exclamation, and so would also use some swears in French (since a bit of him is still French). Loch Uaine: Green Lake (same one that dead fairy told Scotland). Scotland was just being annoying to America and saying the word in his native tongue instead of English.


	13. Chapter 13

_England was deep in the forest throwing stones so that they skipped in the water. He felt betrayed and alone. His friends the woodland creatures tried to help, but in the end they were only animals. He was human, actually more than that: a nation. His mother was a nation. Nations aren't supposed to die. 'So where did you go?' England thought bitterly. He threw a stone as hard as he could, then sat down on the lakeside. Flying mint bunny came over and nuzzled up to him._

_Suddenly, England heard sounds coming from the forest. He jumped up and aimed his bow and arrow in that direction. After a bit, a figure emerged. Wales. England lowed his weapon._

_"You're very good at hiding," Wales said, "It took me forever to find you."_

_"What are you doing here?" England asked, sitting back down on the ground._

_"I came to check up on you."_

_"I'm fine. I want to be left alone." England crossed his arms over his chest._

_"You've been like this for a year now," Wales sighed, "You can't be alone forever. It won't do you any good."_

_"At least alone no one can hurt me."_

_"...this is about Mum still, isn't it?"_

_The feelings of sadness rushed over England again. Memories poured into his head: a sad smile of Britannia as her body faded away, the angry face of America behind a loaded musket pointed at England's face, Australia running away without looking back, Canada with a sorry look on his face asking to be let go, Scotland shouting at him accusing him of setting up the ballot, and the last remaining members of the United Kingdom, once known as the Great British Empire, circling a table with Wales handing him a pen to sign for its dissolution._

_"Why can't you just leave me alone!" England shouted in an attempt to make the out of place memories disappear. But they wouldn't, they ran around and around his head, making him not be able to see clearly. The greens of the grass mixed with the greens of the tree leaves; the sky mixing with the water. England closed his eyes tightly in an attempt to stop himself from getting sick, though this only made it worse._

_Wales knelt down and held England in a tight hug. Immediately, England relaxed, his tense muscles loosing up. "Because, I can't watch my little brother waste away into nothing," Wales said in a voice almost too quiet to hear._

_England tightened his hug in an attempt to not cry. Slowly, the spinning and the mixing of colors stopped, at least enough that England could feel comfortable walking properly. After a time, Wales pulled away, noticed England's tears, and handed him a piece of cloth. "Here."_

_England wiped away his tears._

_"Come with me. There's something I want to give you."_

_England followed Wales out of the forest. Humans were starting to populate the area around there. Mostly for farming. Wales took England to a house which was filled with items of magic._

_"Is this yours?" England asked._

_Wales nodded, "I use them for my rituals. But this I think you can use." Wales pulled out a large book with a magic circle in the front, and handed it to England._

_"But… magic always goes funny with me. It doesn't work anymore. I can only do the little spells."_

_"Try this book. I think it goes funny because you are trying to mimic my spells, and magic works differently for different people."_

_England opened it up. Most of it was blank, but there were a few incantations._

_"That's room for you to write your own spells," Wales explained. He peaked over England's shoulder. "Try that one," he said, pointing at one spell._

_England began speaking the spell. The arch in the middle started glowing green, the same color green that were England's eyes. He could feel a great power inside him flow about. From in the depths of the circle came a child, no older than England. This child was bundled up in a white scarf and winter jacket. England almost dropped his book in surprise; what the hell did he just do?_

_The child smiled when he saw England and said, "привет."_

_"Who are you?" England asked, but he already knew the answer. He felt like he had already been through this moment once before..._

_"Russia."_

_Wales said something in Welsh and Russia disappeared. Then the older nation started laughing, which was a rare occurrence on it's own. Wales didn't even smile all that often, let alone burst out in a hard laugh._

_"You set me up," England said angrily, slamming the book on a nearby table._

_"I honestly didn't. Hey, shh, it's ok. I only laugh because that spell summons a great force to you. I never expected it to be a nation. A young one at that."_

_"Is it a great feat?"_

_"I've never been able to do it."_

_That made England smile; he could do something Wales couldn't do._

_"There's one other thing." Wales pulled out a locked wooden box._

_"What is it?"_

_"It's a treasure box. You put important things you don't want to lose in there."_

_England tried to open it. "It's locked."_

_"You use a spell to open it. I taught you this one, remember?"_

 

_"That's it!" England exclaimed, getting up from his sitting position._

_"What is?" Spain asked confused, looking up from his charts._

_"The box. The one you saved from my ship. I remember how to open it."_

_Without waiting for a reply, England ran over to his box that was on the table and picked it up. There was no more tension against the box; he needed and was ready for whatever lay in there._

_"Alohomora," England said. A green light shined from the lock and the box popped open. Inside was only an empty bottle with the label reading: ambrosia._

 

_"What's all this about, Scotty?" England groaned as he sorted papers at his desk, "I'm extremely busy at the moment."_

_"I ain't asking for you to do anything. Just let me borrow a few of your detectives and I can sort it out myself._

_"Why?"_

_"There are many mysterious deaths going on in my land and I can't solve this on my own."_

_England pulled out a few cards. "Here, but I expect a report later."_

**(Later - after a few weeks)**

_Scotland came back, cards in hand which he put on England's papers. England paused in his writing, then shoved the cards aside and continued on his work._

_"So?" England asked, not looking up._

_Scotland groaned out of annoyance. "The murderer has been apprehended and will be dealt with accordingly by our laws."_

_England looked up from his work. Our laws. Scotland did not mean the laws of Britain, but the laws of nations. "What did he do to warrant that?"_

_"His method of killing was done by ambrosia, a substance created by Ancient Greece. He obtained the information of how to create it, and from there used it for destructive means. He knew exactly what he was doing."_

_"But everything has been taken care of?"_

_Scotland nodded. "He and the substance has been dealt with accordingly._

_"That's all I need to know." England said, and went back to his work. Since then, he put the entire incident outside his mind._

 

_"That's what did it," Spain said._

_"Hm?" England snapped out of the daydream... or memory as he was starting to come to believe these were._

_"The explosion… it was that stuff that was in it. I think it was because it was overheated or mixed with something else and the reaction of it caused it to explode... I'm not exactly sure what happened, but it exploded and put me into this coma."_

_"This must be why we're in this same dream on this ship. Both of us were effected by ambrosia. Not much is known about this substance, so anything is go."_

_"And I just thought it was because we were bonded by our rivalry friendship," Spain said, in a sarcastic tone of voice._


	14. Chapter 14

                Australia was sitting the wrong side up on the couch. His feet were pointing to the sky and his head was touching the ground. Currently, he was texting his Government about official things, since his new boss was coming in soon. That reminded him, he had to go explain the whole nation thing to this dude. It was not going to be a fun conversation. There was one time in which one of his newly positioned bosses tried to kill him because of fraud.

                "You know what would be a good idea," Australia said out loud as he sent the newest text message away.

                "What?" Wales asked. He was on the other side of the room, reading a newspaper. He had a yellow highlighter in his dominant hand.

                "If we got new bosses all at once, and then explained the whole nation situation to them all in one room."

                "It won't work like that. We all get new bosses at too many different times. You and Canada just happened to get yours on lucky coincidence…" Wales drifted off as he apparently found something interesting in the paper. "…and Switzerland now too," he said slowly as he highlighted a section in the paper.

                "I know, but what if? It would be so much less intimidating than going alone."

                "It's just one of the many things we have to deal with."

                America came into the room, holding Taliesin by the tail. " _This_  was trying to smoke me again."

                "That's odd," Wales said, putting down the paper, "Usually after a week he starts being friendlier to people he's rough with."

                Everyone in the room watched the dragon as he wriggled about, not happy at all about being held in midair by a guy five times his size. "Apparently not," America said, not at all impressed.

                "Just let go of him, America. I'll sort him out," Wales said, putting down the highlighter.

                "That's what you said yesterday." All the same, America let Taliesin go. The dragon immediately flew up to the ceiling fan and sat on one of the propellers. He stared intently at America with the dragon version of evil eyes.

                Wales looked up at the dragon and shook his head. "I don't know what it is about you, but Taliesin is definitely mad at you and I have no idea why."

                "That is great," America said, sarcastically, "F-ing brilliant, in British." He left the room.

                "What's gotten under his skin?" Australia asked.

                Wales shrugged, "Whatever it is, he hasn't told me." He extended his arm and the dragon hopped down to perch there. "What is your problem with America?" Wales asked the dragon, "You used to like him."

                Taliesin snorted out some smoke, not looking impressed at all.

                Australia closed up his phone and followed America out.

                "Why can't that damn dragon leave me alone?" America asked.

                "Clingy little thing, isn't he?"

                "More like a fire ball if you ask me. He tries to burn my face off every time he sees me."

                "Maybe he just doesn't like your sense of humor."

                "This has been going on since day one, dude."

                Australia just shrugged. America stopped in front of the kitchen door. Australia peered over his shoulder to see what stopped him; Canada was in there, looking at his phone that was on a stand. "Oui, Papa, mais je ne peux pas viens à votre maison. Je suis désolé." Australia figured it was France, the only person that Canada would speak French to.

                America held up one finger to his lips. Australia already knew what he was going to do and grinned. America held up three fingers, two, one. In a flash, America invaded the kitchen and scooped up Canada's phone. "Aussie, catch!" America tossed the phone over to Australia, who caught it easily.

                "Attendre!" Canada shouted, but then he realized what he said and changed languages, "Wait!" but Australia and America were already making a beeline to the courtyard.

                "G'day, France," he said to the phone where France's face was shown looking a bit confused, "Sorry about this, but you're call has been hijacked for the present moment."

                "Australia? Is that you?"

                "Yep."

                "Along with me, the hero!" America said, leaning in so that France could see his face too.

                "And why have you two stolen Matthew's phone?" France said, in a slightly scolding tone, though he was smiling all the same.

                "Who?"

                "He means Canada," America explained.

                "Oh, you call him Matthew?" Australia was confused; he had never heard anyone call Canada "Matthew" before. That wasn't to say he didn't think it fit Canada at all; he actually liked it.

                "Long story," was all France said on the matter.

                "Well, the phone has been hijacked for fun," Australia explained, "We've been too serious for too long in this old house."

                "Aren't you two little rascals?" France said, smiling and shaking his head.

                "Come on, hurry up," America said, looking behind and speeding up his pace, "Canada's faster than you think."

                Australia glanced behind and saw that Canada was behind them by ten paces and catching up fast. "Ok, gotta go, France."

                "Don't hang up the phone!" France shouted, "I would like to see what happens."

                "Sure," Australia shrugs. He and America ended up in the courtyard before Canada completely caught up to them, no surprise there. But Australia could feel Canada on his tail. 'I never expected him to be that fast,' he thought and he leaped up into the tree in the middle. He climbed up to the first branch and looked down on the courtyard. He turned the phone so that France could see as well.

                "Give me back my phone!" Canada shouted. He looked annoyed.

                Australia just stuck out his tongue and climbed higher.

                "Australia!" Canada whined, then he turned to America with a death glare in his eyes, "This is all your fault." His voice took a menacing tone.

                "Come on, Canada. It's just a bit of fun." America said, his hands raised in playful defense.

                "Not when I'm talking to my dad!" Canada started chasing America around the courtyard. They took turns shouting insults to each other and Australia was reminded of when the three of them lived in the house together. It wasn't a long time, since America went and became independent and soon after Canada went off to fight America in a war.

                "While we are up here," France said, "I want to say congratulations on your new boss."

                "Thanks."

                "Do you know how you are going to explain things to him?"

                "Nope. I never really do." Australia thought for a moment before saying, "I do have this idea, but I doubt I could actually make it a thing."

                "And what may that be?" France asked interested. "I might be able to help if it something you want to do."

                "A party, for us nations and our bosses. A welcoming party for the new ones and then during the party we break the news to them."

                "Oh, that sounds like a great idea. We haven't had a party together in ages. Let's do it then, no? It would be a good excuse to gather on unofficial business for once."

                "And what are you boys up to?" a voice that sounded just like England asked. Australia peeked through the leaves and branches. It was England alright, and he didn't look happy at all. He had his hands in fists on his waist, his head cocked to the side, and his right foot tapping impatiently.

                "Shit," Australia said.

                "What are you doing up there, Australia?" England asked. "Get down from there before you hurt yourself  _again_ , young man."

                'And he thinks I'm a kid.' Australia thought. The keep-away game had changed; who cares whether or not Canada had the phone, England could not under any circumstances get the phone especially since France was on the line.

                "Is that England?" France asked.

                Australia jumped out of the tree, over England's head, rolled on the ground upon impact, and ran into the house, Canada and America right behind him. "Yeah, but he's in no condition to talk right now," Australia said quickly.

                "Hey, get back here!" England shouted after them.

                "He sounds fine to me," France commented

                "He's not, Papa," Canada said, finally grabbing the phone out of Australia's hand. "He's having memory problems. Right now, he thinks that we're still his kids. Well, that we're still living in his house as kids."

                "Oh, now that is a problem indeed." France sounded concerned, "How did this happen?"

                "I'll explain once I'm not being chased," Canada promised. He went ahead of Australia and America.

                America slowed down. "Might as well give him some time," he said stopping.

                "What do you suggest we do then?" Australia asked.

                "Talk?"

                "Now where's the fun in that?" Australia said, rolling his eyes. It did feel good being able to conduct shenanigans with America again. "I have a better idea. Follow my lead."

                Australia waited for England to turn the corner, but by this time the older nation was slowing down. "Never mind. I forgot the old guy tires easily," Australia commented to America. He walked over to England. "You alright, mate?"

                "You kids run way too fast for your own good," England panted, "Where's Canada?"

                "Not sure. He outran me and America."

                "What were you even doing?" England asked.

                "We were just having some fun with Canada, that's all," America said nonchalantly.

                "It looked like you were terrorizing him," England said, not at all convinced at America's answer, "Again."

                "You're just exaggerating, as usual," America said, "He was fine with it."

                England still didn't look convinced. "I'm going to go look for Canada, to make sure he is alright. You two stay out of trouble." England walked away.

                "Do you think that was enough time for Canada to finish his call?" Australia asked.

                "Yeah. He should be fine," America said.

 

**(Meanwhile, in another part of the house...)**

                When Ireland walked into the kitchen, Northern Ireland was looking through a picture book with a longing look in his eyes. The book was something that Northern Ireland threw together not too long ago (it was sometime in the past 50 years), full of pictures of the northern coast of his land. Northern Ireland's light blue eye was glowing softly.

                Ireland sat down next to his brother. "Missing home again?" Ireland asked.

                Northern Ireland nodded. "I had a vision of home, and… well…" He looked at one particular photo of a cliff by the seashore. Just like Ireland, Northern Ireland would have visions of the past, though not as frequently and not as bad. "I just... I suddenly got homesick."

                "Be glad it's only that and not something worse."

                Northern Ireland nodded. "I'm not complaining. It's easier now that I'm with you."

                "Is it?"

                Northern Ireland nodded and pointed in the middle area of Ireland's face, in between the eyes. "It's your eyes. They always remind me of home. The blue one for the sea; the green one for the forests. I can see them in your eyes clearly."

                Ireland shook his head, "Only because you have nation eyes. Human eyes don't pick up that sort of thing."

                "Wrong. I noticed that the first time I met you."

                Ireland blinked, then shook his head, "You must be remembering wrong."

                Northern Ireland shook his head. "No, I remember that day clearly. I asked you if you were one of the Fay, for you had mismatching eyes that looked as though they were taken from the land itself."

                "And I told you no."

                "Except that was a lie, because they are." Northern Ireland was on the brink of laughing.

                Ireland could not help but smile. Then his surroundings changed and  _he was standing at the Northern boarder of his land, the one before he and Northern Ireland split. In front of him was Northern Ireland, though much younger, looking out into the sea. He wore a tattered cloak and on his head was a wreath of flowers that Ireland made for him earlier. Northern Ireland didn't want to take it off because he thought it was beautiful._

_"Do you ever think that we'll explore other lands?" Northern Ireland asked, turning to look at Ireland. His eyes were both light blue, like the sky, and that current moment filled with a sense of adventure._

_"Who knows? But I'm content staying on this island with you."_

_Northern Ireland closed his eyes and smiled. When he opened them again, his eyes looked to someone behind Ireland. "And who are you?"_

_Ireland turned and saw Britannia. She introduced herself to the two of them. "I know you who you are, Ireland," she said, looking down at the young nation. "But I don't know who you are," she looked at Northern Ireland, "What is your name, child?" She seemed curious._

_"North."_

_"Was that the name you were born with?"_

_"…no. It's Spéir . But I like being called North better."_

_"And who gave you the name North?"_

**Ire… Earth to Ire…**

                Ireland blinked and his vision returned to the kitchen area. Northern Ireland's hand was in front of his face, waving furiously. "Something wrong?" Northern Ireland asked, concerned, as he put his hand down.

                "No, just remembering."

                "Nothing bad, right? No wars?"

                "No, nothing bad."

                "Good. It's bad enough you keep having nightmares about wars."

                "…not like you see them."

                "Aye, I do, actually." Northern Ireland said. "And I know they're yours because their always from your point of view. We are still connected, mentally, in the weird psychic way."

                "You never said anything about that before."

                "Because I didn't want to worry you. I can handle my own too, you know. I've survived this long, right?"

                "…aye. You can be as strong headed as Mum sometimes."

                Northern Ireland smiled a bit and calmed down. "I should hope so. I am her child too."

_Ireland was back at the cliff. Britannia had knelt down and put a hand on Northern Ireland's head. "My blessing be upon you, North. May you be protected by the graces of the land and may they one day bless you with their power."_

_Northern Ireland's eyes shown white for a moment. "What are you doing?" Ireland asked in a panic. When he looked at Northern Ireland's eyes again, they had changed; one was still the light blue it always was, but the other was a light green. They reflected the sky and grass of the land around them. Ireland would have been entranced by them and how they reflected in the light if it weren't for Britannia being right there._

_"I have blessed your brother, to protect him from all that is to come. Let me bless you too, Ireland."_

_Britannia placed her hand on Ireland. "My blessing be upon you, Ireland. May you be protected by the graces of your land. The nation of Ireland." Ireland did not feel any different, except he felt more in tune with the land around him. He could feel the trees of the forest, the crashing of the waves against the rocks, even the people of the land going about their daily business._

**You're doing it again.**

                "It's not like I can control it," Ireland said, shaking his head to clear away the vision. He almost got himself completely absorbed in the memory, something that happened to him quiet often.

                "You are obligated to tell me now, since this is the second time it's happened in one sitting. In the past five minutes."

                "...It's about when Mum found us."

                "And she had no idea what I was?" Northern Ireland said with small smile.

                "Don't make it sound like a joke."

                "But it's true. Might as well make it a joke; better to laugh than cry. Scotland did tell her that I am a nation, so she knows now."

                "Like that helps any now."

                "It'll make things less awkward when we all go to heaven."

                "Don't talk about such things. It's a bad omen." Ireland never liked talking about death and dying, especially not around a table. It always ended up on the topic of war, which Ireland had to deal enough with as it were.

                "Fine, I'll leave it. Only for you, Ire."

 

**(Now, back to Canada. Pretend the phone call is in French.)**

                Canada found his old hiding spot that he had always retreated to when America was being annoying. It was in this wardrobe that was blocked by a table in the attic. This wardrobe had a bottom door, that opened regardless of the table blocking it. It was smaller than Canada had remembered it, but he was still able to fit all the same.

                "So, what is wrong with Angleterre?" France asked.

                "He overdosed on something and now his memory's all mixed up. We aren't even too positive about what happened either."

                "Do you know what on? It can't be his pathetic excuse of alcohol."

                "No, it's some substance called Ambrosia," Canada said, recalling what Wales told him before. It still was weird to him that a substance from mythology was having such a hold in the present.

                "Oh, I have seen it before. Some human thought it was a good idea to sell it a long time ago, and it caused a lot of death. It took a long time for me and several other nations to be able to find and take care of this substance. I thought we got rid of it all. I guess not."

                "No," Canada agreed.

                "Now it is clear why you won't be visiting me. You are needed over there, no?"

                "Oui, Papa. Maybe I can come over when this is all sorted out."

                "I would like that very much, my angel."

                Canada heard footsteps in the attic.

                "I've got to go, Papa."

                "Go now, but call me when Angleterre is better. We may not get on the same foot most of the time, but I do care about his welfare. Who else would I get to bicker with if he is gone?"

                Canada hung up the phone and crawled out of the hiding place. Scotland was right there, holding a fair sized book. He looked down on Canada, and jumped slightly. "You continually surprise me," Scotland said, "What were you doing under there?"

                "Hiding."

                "From?"

                "England."

                Scotland laughed. "He's not that menacing."

                "Easy for you to say," Canada muttered, "He can be quite scary with those eyebrows of his."

                "If you knew the things I did to him, you wouldn't find him scary at all. He's only just a wee lad trying to fill shoes that are too big for him. Or he did once."

                "And right now he still does," Canada stated warily.

                "Tell me, did you notice anything unusual with his hand?"

                "No, but then again I wasn't looking for it. Why?

                Scotland smirked, "I left him a curse letter. I was wondering if he got it yet or not." Canada gave him a mixed look of horror and confusion. "I used to send him a lot of curse letter back when he was working during Queen Victoria's reign. Ireland and Wales did to, but I did it the most. It was all in good fun really, but I think he had forgotten at that point we were brothers and kept thinking it was some political scheme. Anyway, I found one in this old house and decided to leave it out for him, maybe it'll help his memory. I'm surprised he never opened it; he opens all his mail."

                "What kind of curse?" Canada was almost afraid to ask.

                "Oh, nothing that bad, not in his state. It just makes his hands twitch. That's very mild for what I usually give him. Sometimes it's changing him into animals. Sometimes it's exploding letters. I sent him quite a few that were filled with acid."

                Canada shifted uncomfortably.

                "I only do it to him," Scotland said, "Never to you… unless you did something to piss me off that badly."

                Canada nodded, but didn't pursue that conversation further.

                "So… how have you been doing with your magic work?" Scotland asked.

                "I'm still waiting for the spell book. Wales said he's been having a hard time finding spells for me."

                "Aye, he asked me if I could help look, which is why I'm up here in the first place." Scotland motioned to the book in his hands. "Not that I can actually help; I don't have very many spells myself."

                "Why?"

                "Not interested really. I talk with the dead and do some curses; that's enough for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The untranslated French in this chapter translates to: "Yes, Papa, but I can't come to your house. I'm sorry."


	15. Chapter 15

_England patrolled the dark and empty streets of the city of London. This blackout was all over the metropolis, not just in the city itself. The stillness of the place made it very eerie to England; he wasn't used to the city being this quiet. It was like London was holding its breath, waiting for the storm of German planes to come. England looked up to the sky when he heard the first of the planes. He could just make out one flying past in the sky. After a few minutes, England could make out more of them. Scouting, that was what they were doing, and soon the bombs would start raining down. The one time he wished that London wasn't based on the river. Alright, he had wished several times that London wasn't based on a river (especially that one time in 1858), but this time more than the rest. The planes up there were German and they were ready to strike._

_The people had been taken to safety already, in the Underground. The tunnels down there were big enough to hold people and deep enough to protect them from the bombs. Not everyone was down there though: England had a brigade of people (who willingly volunteered) to put themselves in harm's way to protect the historical buildings of the city. But even then, who could say which buildings would be hit._

_The first of the bombs fell, some place inside the city itself. The first round of them hit in some jagged line from around St. Paul's Cathedral all the way to the Parliament building. The building lit up for a few minutes, then all was dark once again until a new wave of bombs came in. Then, the fires lit up the night._

_One bomb hit St. Paul's Cathedral directly. England's eyes got wide and he ran to that building. The fires around the city were ablaze by that point in time. The smoke made a large cloud that seemed to sit just over the tops of every building. The orange flames alighting the dark night sky. The wooden buildings were fueling a fire that would not be tamed by no mere woman's (and on that note, anyone's) piss. Not even by Sir Bloodworth's own piss (if he actually tried). Only a miracle could tame this kind of flame before it could do any more damage. Explosions could be heard all over London: from the bombs and buildings being blown up to stop the fire from spreading further._

_Another bomb hit the Cathedral. Out of all the buildings this one had be protected at all costs. It could not fall to the might of the Germans. If this one building fell, all hope would be lost. And England could not have that for his people. Especially not after what happened with France's own country with the Nazis taking over._

_Another bomb hit the cathedral, and another. England stopped running; all could do was watch as he saw the building being blown to bits, helpless to defend it._

**England?**

                England opened his eyes and looked up at Wales, who was standing over him. England was in a chair in the reading room, right next to the table that was at the center of the room. There was a book open by his right hand; his spell book.

                "Is everything alright?" England asked, the dream still feeling too real.

                "About as alright as they can be," Wales said, "I would have left you there but I don't want you catching a cold."

                England nodded. "It wouldn't do me any good to catch a cold now. I'm being shipped out tomorrow." He had received a message recently, calling him in to go to France for undercover work. He couldn't find the letter, though. He could have sworn he left it on his bedside, but it wasn't there.

                "What?" Wales looked as though, if he was holding something, it would have fallen to the ground.

                "Sudden, I know. It's just an attempt to get some information on the Nazi situation in France. Scouting, that's all."

                Wales nodded and seemed to calm down some, but he still had a worried look on his face.

                "Is something going to happen to me out there?" England asked, knowing well that Wales' visions became more frequent when some dire event was looming on the metaphorical horizon.

                "No, no, you'll be fine," Wales said quickly.

                "But you did see something," England pointed out. It was clear on Wales' face that he had seen something concerning the immediate future, probably of the mission he was about to embark on.

                "Yes, nothing to do with your mission though. Just an invasion that killed many people, trying to free France."

                England nodded. No doubt there would be much bloodshed trying to get France out of Germany's grasp. "Tell me," England said slowly, "Do you know anything about the German air bombs?"

                "The Blitz… plenty." Wales sat down across from England, "What do you want to know?"

                "Will London survive?" London, the capital of his nation. If it fell, the rest of his country would too.

                Wales nodded gravely, "Yes, London will survive. It will take a beating, but it takes a lot to beat the spirit out of your people."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I should put this as a note: the dream sequence is a merging of the Great Fire of London of 1666 and the Blitz. And yes, I am aware that St. Paul's is still standing, but once again, it is a dream sequence and anything can happen in a dream.


	16. Chapter 16

_The morning sunlight started to blossom in the sky as Spéir ran to the cliff by the sea. He wore a traveling cloak, ready for the adventure his friend, Ireland, promised to take him on, but only if he came early in the morning. The grass was wet from the morning dew as he ran to the cliff. There, looking out into the sea was Ireland, his eyes were glowing brightly and in his hand was some necklace. The waves of the ocean clashed angrily against the cliff-side; a storm would be coming soon enough._

_"What's that?" Spéir asked as he came up._

_"It's a charm. For you, as we go exploring the land. It's so that you don't fall ill." The charm was wooden and in the shape of a four leaf clover._

_Spéir gave Ireland a look. "Ill?"_

_"I did say we would be gone a long time, didn't I?"_

_Spéir nodded and put the charm around his neck; Ireland did mention it, but Spéir didn't understand time all that well, especially not when he was with Ireland. All he really cared about was being with his friend. He felt a connection with Ireland that he didn't feel with anyone else. A bond, like one twins would have._

_Spéir looked out into the sea, and in the distance he could see a storm raging. No lightning (thankfully), just heavy rain. It actually sounded closer than it was at._

                Northern Ireland woke up to the sound of heavy rain pounding on the window. It took him a few moments for him to register the fact that it was raining. He sat up and went over to the window. It had been the first time in weeks that he had seen rain, and even longer that he had seen rain this heavy. It was coming down in sheets. Northern Ireland smiled widely. At long last, something he could do to help.

                "Wake up, Ire! It's raining!"

                Ireland rolled over and groaned. He was not a morning person, even on a good day. It was worse when there was a storm. Northern Ireland ran to Ireland's bed.

                "Come on, get up! Before it stops." Northern Ireland shook Ireland's shoulder until his brother opened his eyes and sat up.

                "What is it, North?" Ireland groaned. He messaged his forehead with his fingers.

                Northern Ireland was already off the bed and was trying to find their dancing clothes. It consisted of just pants and a shirt; the important bit were the shoes which were by the bed. They were made for the purpose of Irish dance and magic. "It's raining, and it's raining hard." Once he found them, Northern Ireland threw a pair of the dancing clothes at Ireland that hit him square in the face, then put on the other pair. He looked up once he was dressed to see that Ireland was still in a drowsy daze. Northern Ireland shook his head, and put on the shoes. "Put those on and meet me outside and hurry," Northern Ireland said.

                He ran out of the room and headed for the courtyard. On the way, he almost ran into Canada.

                "What's wrong, North?" Canada asked. He was in his normal red sweatshirt that bore the flag of his nation on it. He seemed awake enough, but Northern Ireland didn't really stop to check.

                "It's raining!" He did figure that it must be odd for someone to be excited about heavy rain, but Northern Ireland didn't care.

                Once Northern Ireland got outside, he dropped a large wooden board onto the grass area of the courtyard and tested it out so that it wouldn't wobble. He took out the spell circle he made and placed it by the door to the house. Then, he warmed up his feet, humming the tune of "Flaming Red Hair". Yes, he watched the Lord of the Rings movies, with an unwilling Ireland.

                "Don't you want a rain jacket, dude?" America asked, a yellow rain jacket in hand, accompanied by Canada.

                "Not this time, America. Today, you should see magic at its finest."

                "You might get sick," Canada commented worriedly.

                "Not with this charm." Northern Ireland pulled out the sheep pendant, which Ireland did complete and gave him. "Oh, finally."

                Ireland came out and joined his brother on the platform. The rest of the family was with him.

                "Are you going to dance?" Australia asked.

                "Yes," Northern Ireland said with a wide smile on his face.

                "Awesome."

                "Ready?" Ireland asked, putting down the music player.

                Northern Ireland nodded.

                Ireland pressed play on the player. The song that came out was "Wake Me Up". The upbeat guitar started off and the brothers tapped out the beat before starting. They had different choreography for this song, two different rhythms to completely capture the song. It was something similar to two people singing in harmony. This was the kind of thing the brothers did together, mainly because Northern Ireland wanted to and Ireland went along with it. Northern Ireland started singing the words to it, but not in English but in Irish Gaelic, something that Ireland put together. In the recent years, Ireland started translating popular songs into Irish Gaelic. Once the modern techno part came in, the music on the player stopped and it was just their foot taps driving the song, the music coming from their feet. Northern Ireland could feel his magic at work. He could see the blue and green sparks flying off Ireland's shoes. By the second verse, Northern Ireland couldn't feel the rain anymore (he could still see it though, and it was coming down harder than ever). Also, Ireland joined in with the singing. It was the first time in a long time he saw Ireland smiling.

                Northern Ireland glanced at England, who had his arms crossed over his chest and didn't seem impressed by the dance (though, Northern Ireland did note that the eyes were interested in the dance, and the eyes never lie); sure enough there was a circle underneath him and it was glowing the green and blue colors sparking from their shoes. The spell was working. Once the song was done, everyone clapped. The Irish twins took a bow.

                "That was amazing!" Australia, Canada, and America said in unison.

                "Do it again," Australia added.

                "Another?" Northern Ireland asked. "The spell is done… so…" He looked over at Ireland, "It's up to Ire."

                Ireland pursed his lips and closed his eyes. "Inside," he said after a moment, "We don't want anyone else getting sick staying out here in the rain."

                Northern Ireland gave the biggest smile he had given all week and hugged Ireland tightly.

                "Can we go inside now?" England asked impatiently, "It's cold out here."

 

                Canada found Ireland after the second performance, which was taken place in the fireplace room, since there was a lot of room in there. Ireland had gone back to his own room and was changing into casual clothes: a simple t-shirt and black jeans.

                "I was wondering if I could ask you something that's been on my mind for a long time now," Canada said, a bit timidly.

                "Go ahead," Ireland said, taking off his dress shirt he wore for the dance.

                "You and North seem to have a special connection. A special bond. Why is that?"

                "We're twins. What do you expect?"

                "But America and I are twins as well and we don't have that kind of connection."

                "You two may be brothers, but you aren't twins. People are just stupid and mistake you two because you are so quiet." Ireland stared down at the t-shirt for a moment before pulling it over his head. "Truth be told, North and I aren't proper twins ourselves."

                Ireland looked up at Canada, who was looking at him, expectant for some kind of answer. "When… I was born, I was alone for some time. All I knew was my name: Ireland. After some time being on my own, I met North. His name back then was Spéir. I called him North, the name seemed to sound more like him. We stayed together and we explored all of my land for a time, until Mum found us. She cared for both of us, even though she had no idea what North was at the time. We grew up with Scotland, Wales, and England, and for a time we both forgot that we weren't really brothers. When she died, I remembered about North and wondered who he was. At first, I thought he might have been some kind of mutant leprechaun, but he told me of his life in the village by the shore, as short as it was. As the years wore on, something changed in him, he knew things that at one point only I knew, like when a nation invaded or visited the land. He became a nation, but I wasn't sure of what. That was, until sometime during the 1700's, more than a century since the plantings first began. I… it… I figured that the northern bit of Ireland was starting to be different from the rest of Ireland's history, culture, and religion, because of the plantings that were taking place. No longer fully Ireland. And then, 1922 came along and the country of Northern Ireland was officially established."

                "So North was human once?"

                Ireland nodded. "No one else knows that. At least I don't think. And you better not tell them."

                "I won't. I promise. But how was he able to live all that time? Before he became a nation?"

                "…you know how you can keep that bear alive with you as a companion, right?"

                Canada nodded, not entirely sure where this was going.

                "We nations can keep one living thing with us without it dying. A human life is included with that, but no one would dare do something like that now, if they knew."

                "And you kept North alive?"

                Ireland nodded. "I had no idea. I wanted a companion. I didn't want to be alone. Which is why I can't just simply forgive what England had done to me. Separating my brother from me."

 

                America went outside, alone. It was still raining, but America didn't care. He had a jacket with a hood and the rain was letting up a bit; he was fine. He went out into the forest where Scotland had taken him. He did ask about the lake, and Scotland did say he restored it back to the way it was. Once there, America recognized immediately that there was a person at the edge of the lake, looking out at it. It was a mini-person, not a child (America liked calling children mini-people). It had green clothes on, which a giant matching hat.

                The little person turned when America came closer. It was a girl, with violently orange hair and bright green eyes. "Oi, come to see the lake too?"

                "Um…" America figured it was a leprechaun, and at this point in time, he believed at long last that England was telling the truth about the fairies and his other hidden friends. He was still a bit wary about encounters though, no surprise about that. "I guess…"

                "What do you mean you guess? The only reason people come out here is to see this lake. Or at least it was and now will be again thanks to Scotland's work."

                "I was just trying to clear my head."

                "Mm. Walking can do that very well, little nation."

                "I'm not little. I'm ten times the size of you."

                "Size doesn't compete with age," the leprechaun pointed out, "Not that I'm older than you, but you don't intimidate me with your very short history, America."

                America took offence, but at the same time knew what the little girl meant. While the 17th century did mark when people from Europe (who would later be the driving influence of his culture) started colonizing, his proper beginnings didn't really start until the century after, with him seeking for independence from Britain. Compared to most nations, he was rather young, especially as a world power. He carried weight about him, but not historical weight like England did; he didn't have centuries of history to walk among because it either was destroyed by ignorant people or it just didn't exist in the first place. He sat down at the edge and looked at the water. It was clear, but because of the blockage of the trees, he couldn't see much of the floor below. 

                "How much would I have to pay you for advice?" America asked. He had heard somewhere that leprechauns would do favors for people for a price.

                The leprechaun laughed. "That's a good one. Where did you hear that?"

                "Legends."

                The leprechaun laughed even harder. "Some legends those are. I grant wishes if you catch me, but advice is free."

                "I'm told that I have magic, but I want nothing to do with it. And everyone here seems pretty well set on the fact that I do have magic and should use it."

                "Alright, but..." The leprechaun waited for more, but America was done. "Really, that's it?"

                America nodded.

                "You are kinda helpless when you're out of your element, aren't you? Alright, my advice to you is do what you want and don't back down. Simple."

                "Really?"

                "Hey, if you don't want to do something, don't do it. Even if it is something as great as magic."

                "Thanks, I guess."

                "But honestly, you could have asked anyone that. You didn't need some magical essence telling you something as simple as that." Without another word, the leprechaun disappeared into the woods.

                America would be lying to himself if he said he felt better. He still felt torn about the whole magic bit because somewhere deep down, he did actually want to use it. He was just afraid of what could happen if he did.

                Taliesin came up to America and looked up at the nation with annoyed eyes. "And what do you want?" America said. He had just about enough of this little devil of a creature. The dragon blew smoke into America's face, but then proceeded to climb up and perched himself on America's shoulder. "Does this mean you've forgiven me?" America asked. Taliesin licked America's cheek with his tongue, which felt like wet sandpaper. Tentatively, America petted Taliesin's head and for once there was no attempt on the dragon's part to bite America's hand.

 

**(That Evening)**

                Northern Ireland stared out of the window. The rain had been coming down all day; as time came to evening hours, the rain seemed to be coming down even harder. He got nervous as he watched the sky getting darker and darker. He prayed that it would only just rain; he hated lightning storms. Always had.

                Northern Ireland heard the door bell ring. He poked his head into the hallway; Scotland had already answered the door. Curious, Northern Ireland exited the room and walked up the hallway to the front door. By that time, Scotland stepped aside and let in two young adults. They looked completely drenched.

                "You two looked like you were out in the rain," Northern Ireland said, coming up next to Scotland.

                "Yeah," the girl said, looking a bit guilty.

                "They got lost," Scotland explained.

                "Good thing we're here then. I'm Spéir. This is my brother, Scotty." Northern Ireland would have just said "North" for his name, but Spéir just rolled off his tongue. He mentally shrugged, no going back now. Scotland gave Northern Ireland a look that read "What-the-hell?", which Northern Ireland only smiled at.

                "My name is Jose," the boy said.

                "Victoria," the other said, taking off her coat.

                "North," Scotland said quietly so only Northern Ireland could hear, "Where's our little brother?"

                Northern Ireland shrugged.

                "You may want to go find him before he causes trouble."

                "Right." Northern Ireland gave a goodbye wave to the guests, "Don't worry, Scotty will take care of both of you." Winking at Scotland, Northern Ireland went on the search for England.


	17. Chapter 17

_England knocked on the door and waited for a reply. A personal, business visit. The kingdom was to switch hands to a new monarch, and England had heard some rumors about this one. 'She's weak, not fit to lead,' they said. Well, England was going to find out for himself._

_The door opened and a 17 year old girl stood in the door way. Alexandria, though England heard she preferred to be called Victoria. "Good day, sir," she said politely, "I heard you wanted to see me." England noted that she had a German accent._

_"Yes, may I come in?"_

_Victoria nodded. Once in the room, England asked, "I hope I am not interrupting anything."_

_"No, sir. Though I do wonder why the most mysterious member of the court is here to visit me. Most men visit my mother, or Sir Conroy."_

_"You are to be the future queen, though. I figured I would introduce myself and see what kind of person you are."_

_"What do you know of me?" Victoria asked._

_"Nothing," England answered honestly, "Except from stories that I don't believe for one moment. I have learned that people will talk about anything and everything."_

_"They probably say that I am weak," Victoria said quietly, looking down at her hand that was clinging tight on the bed post._

_"Are you?" England asked._

_"No," Victoria replied with no hesitation as she looked up at England. She had determination in her eyes._

_England nodded. "That's all I need to hear. How prepared are you to take the throne?"_

_"I won't know that until the time comes."_

_"That's very mature," England noted out loud._

_"I have to be in order for people to take me seriously."_

_England nodded, he understood how that went all too well._

_"Tell me, what is your name?" Victoria asked, "No one gives me a straight answer."_

_"I doubt not, not many people know exactly who I am. In public, I am known as Arthur Morris."_

_"And in private?" Victoria raised an eyebrow._

**England?**

                England opened his eyes and looked up at North. "I wasn't expecting to find you sleeping in here. You'll catch a cold."

                England was in one of the chairs in the fireplace room. The fire had completely dwindled down, and the only light in the room was from a lamp on a side-table by North. "I hadn't realized I fell asleep." The last thing he remembered doing was talking to Scotland about the goddamn acid letters he kept sending, though his newest letter just had a simple twitching curse. Not that it lessened England's anger at all.

                "Come on, to bed. You must be tired."

                "You go ahead first," England said, "Give me a moment…"

                "Alright, but don't keep me waiting."

                North left the room. England was tired, though he wasn't sure why. His head was foggy, he couldn't think clearly. England slowly got up and started to head to his room. Though on the way, he ran into someone.

                "I'm so sorry. I… Arthur?"

                England looked at the girl in front of him. She was just a few centimeters shorter than him, with long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had a pale face that reflected the light. Her eyes were a hazel color.

                "Victoria?" England said slowly. Thought the clothes were nothing Victoria would ever wear, there was no doubt in his mind that this was Victoria. "What are you doing here?"

                "I got lost," she blushed a bit, "But… out of all the places to find you again, talk about coincidence that I'd find you here."

                "I live here," England said with an eyebrow raised, "And I did not realize that you would come up visiting this region when your uncle is close to dying."

                Victoria gave England a look of confusion, "I'm sorry?"

                "You do understand that he will die soon, don't you?" England thought that Victoria was fully aware of her uncle's condition. That monarch did not have much time left.

                The confusion on Victoria's face only intensified, "Arthur… what on Earth are you talking about?"

                Now England was confused. "Your uncle… William IV… he is dying. How can you have forgotten that?"

                They stared at each other for a moment or two until North came into the room. "That's where you have been, En… oh, hello, Victoria." North Ireland smiled at Victoria, and promptly grabbed a hold of England's arm.

                "Hi… um… sorry…" Victoria kept looking at England, as if trying to get a hint as to the current situation.

                "No, your fine. I'm just going to take my brother to bed because he is tired." England glared at Northern Ireland but he kept his mouth shut. Something told him that he didn't have all the information available to him. "Are you alright?"

                Victoria nodded.

                "Good, ok. Once I get my brother back to bed, we can talk some more, if you want."

                "Oh… um, sure…"

                North dragged England to the bedroom, in which England put up a bit of a struggle at first. But his strength wasn't what it usually was, and so England could not break free from North's determined grasp. Once England was in bed, Northern Ireland sat down in a chair next to the bed.

                "What?" England asked. He wished North would just leave so that he could go back to find Victoria and sort out his situation.

                "Don't you want a bedtime story?" North asked with a smile.

                "North… I'm not a toddler. Stop treating me like one."

                "Oh…" North looked down a bit dejected.

                England sighed. When North was determined about something, nothing was going to make him back down easily. "But, if you want to tell one, go ahead. You chose it though. I… I can't think right now…" It was the fog in his head. It made his mind numb so he could not think strait; he knew he was forgetting something important: about North, about Victoria, about the letter...

                "Hm… Everything alright?" North asked concerned.

                "My mind's just a bit foggy right now, that's all."

                North nodded understandingly. "Then let me sing something then. You don't have to think as much with a song."

Buachaill ón Éirne mé 's bhréagfainn féin cailín deas óg.  
Ní iarrfainn bó spré léithe tá mé féin saibhir go leor.  
'S liom Corcaigh 'a mhéid é, dhá thaobh a' ghleanna 's Tír Eoghain.  
'S mura n-athraí mé béasaí 's mé n' t-oidhr' ar Chontae Mhaigh Eo.

                England was reminded of something, it came into his mind like a spark. Ireland, divided, and England himself told North he couldn't speak in Gaelic in public. True, he banned both of them from speaking in the language, but he was harsher to North than he was to Ireland. "North… how much did you lose of your Gaelic tongue?"

                North put a finger to England's lips and shaking his head. He didn't stop singing, but England got his message all the same: now wasn't the time to think about that. When North was done singing, he said, "Let's wait, ok? Till tomorrow?"

                "I'm called away on business tomorrow. We are going to have a new monarch soon."

                North raised an eyebrow for a moment, but then nodded as if realizing what England meant. "Then when you come back from that, we can talk. It's going to be a conversation that will keep both of us awake all night."

 

_England and Wales had been wandering around the house looking for Northern Ireland. No doubt the newly appointed nation needed some company at this time. Ireland had just pulled out of the Union, and North chose to stay with it, forming the new nation of Northern Ireland._

_"Why would you side with him?!" Ireland's voice shouted from behind a door._

_Both England and Wales stopped in their tracks as they heard the reply from North Ireland, "I am not siding with anyone! This is just my choice. I have nothing against you."_

_"But... he... don't you understand what he has done to us?"_

_"What he has done to you. I have no quarrel with him."_

_"That's because he has brain-washed you. Can't you see?"_

_Wales turned to England. 'Well?' Wales mouthed._

_England took a look over at Wales' face. It was, as always, unreadable. Though recently, even Wales' poker face sometimes gave sudden flickers of the emotions lying underneath, no doubt the feelings of his people. England sighed and opened the door. Indeed, the Irish twins were in the room. Ireland looked as though he could kill someone, mostly England. Northern Ireland looked mad as well, but there was also a hurt look to his anger as well. They both looked at England and Wales as they entered the room. Northern Ireland ran into Wales' arms, which accepted him immediately. Ireland locked eyes with England._

_"I think you should go," England said, "If you are going to terrorize my household."_

_Ireland did not say a word, but left the room all the same, bumping England in the shoulder as he passed by. England would have loved to fight Ireland at that moment, but he kept his instincts in check. There was no good fighting in that room at that moment. Not with Northern Ireland looking like he could cry at any given moment._

_"Come, let's go to your room, ok?" Wales suggested kindly to Northern Ireland. They left the room, leaving England alone with his thoughts._


	18. Chapter 18

**(Before the run-in with England)**

                Scotland led Victoria and Jose into the kitchen, where they sat down and he started making tea for both of them. "So, just to get this straight," Scotland said, bringing the tea over to the two college students, "Your group decided to go exploring the area in the pouring rain and you got separated from them and got lost."

                "It sounds odd," Victoria said, nodding, "But we're only here for a few days and everyone wanted to see as much as possible."

                Scotland shook his head; it sounded like something either England or Northern Ireland would do in a different country. It was apparent by the kids' faces that they were telling the truth. He took their coats and headed out of the kitchen. "I'll be back with dry clothes," Scotland explained as he left.

                Scotland went into the fireplace room first, where Canada and Ireland were playing chess. Scotland hung up the coats by the fire for them to dry.

                "And where did those come from?" Ireland asked.

                "We're going to have guest. They got lost in the forest."

                "And why were they out in that to begin with?" Ireland asked, "It's been raining all day. No sane person would actually be out in that."

                "Aye, don't you think I know that?" Scotland groaned. This was bringing memories back, one in particular where one of his clans was back-stabbed for this very reason. It took him a while after that day to trust people again. Not that anything was going to go wrong; they were only students after all.

                "Sorry, Scotty," Ireland muttered. Scotland could see a trace of a green glow from Ireland's eye, "I trust your judgment. And it's only for one night, right?"

                Scotland nodded. "They were with a group of other students and they got separated as they were all exploring. They're only here for the weekend."

                "Do you need any help?" Canada asked.

                "No, I…" An idea popped into Scotland's head, "Actually, do you have any spare jumpers?"

 

                Wales was walking past the kitchen and he noticed that it had occupants. Looking in, he saw a boy and girl both of whom looked like they had been in the rain for hours.

                "Hello?" he asked, coming into the kitchen.

                The two of them looked up and Wales recognized the girl. "Hi… sorry for intruding," she said, "Your friend let us in."

                Wales shook his head. 'No, it couldn't be...' The girl reminded Wales of a young Queen Victoria, but there was another reason that he recognized her. He could feel it. "Tall guy with red hair?" Wales asked.

                They nodded. Scotland.

                "Um… where's the toilet?" the girl asked.

                Wales pointed in a direction. "Down the hall, to the left." The girl left. Wales sat down next to the boy. "What's your name?"

                "I'm Jose. That was Victoria. Never call her Vicky she hates that." Jose added the last part rather quickly.

                "I'm… Dylan," Wales said on the fly. Out of all his aliases, Dylan was the one he liked the best.

                "So…" Jose said, "It's raining hard."

                "Yes. Were you out in that?"

                "Si, for hours. We lost our group out in the woods and couldn't find our way back. It doesn't help that neither of us have a sense of direction." Jose shrugged.

                "So… are you a student?" Wales asked, sitting down across from Jose.

                "Si. Came up from Spain to study music. I usually have my guitar with me, but it's back in the village we're staying at." Jose pouted. No doubt he felt that his life was in his guitar.

                Scotland came back in the room with two pairs of clothes. He handed one to Jose. Wales noted that sweatshirt had a maple leaf on it.

                "Gracias. We're sorry to impose."

                "No, you aren't imposing. It's a tradition in my land that we give hospitality to anyone who asks."

                "Again, gracias." Jose took off his wet shirt and put on the sweatshirt.

                "Where's Victoria?" Scotland asked.

                "Toilet," Wales said simply.

                Scotland nodded.

                "You two are brothers as well?" Jose asked.

                "Aye," Scotland looked at Wales for a moment, "I'm the oldest."

                Wales raised an eyebrow. "Ire is older than you, last time I checked," he said quietly so only Scotland could hear.

                Victoria came back into the room, ending that debate. She sat down at the table, and asked, "Are you Arthur's brothers?"

                Wales was caught off guard for a moment. He remembered, after that time England disappeared for a week, that America called and kept asking for Arthur when he meant England. Perhaps it was the same thing here. "Yes. Why, did you run into him?"

                Victoria nodded.

                "How do you know him?" Wales asked.

                "We lived in the same building for the past few months or so. Is there something I should know about him?"

                "What do you mean?" Wales started getting anxious. He remembered where he recognized this girl from; she was from a vision.

                "When I ran into him just now, he thought I was Queen Victoria and started talking about things I had no idea about. It was a good thing that I got bailed out by Spéir, but my question still stands. Is there something I should know about Arthur?"

                "He's delusional..." Scotland started to say.

                Wales put a hand up. "Wait," he interrupted.

                Everyone looked at Wales. "What?" Scotland asked.

                Wales took a breath to think. "How well do you know Arthur?" he asked Victoria.

                "I'd like to think well enough. We'd spent a lot of time together talking."

                "About history?"

                "Yes… how do you know?"

                "Lucky guess." Wales sighed. He was about to take a leap of faith and he prayed that he wouldn't be wrong. "Can you two keep a secret?"

                The kids nodded, confused.

                "Brother," Scotland said warningly.

                Wales put his hand up again. Yes, he was about to tell these kids a secret that could turn the whole world upside-down. But he had a feeling that not telling them would do more harm than good. "Arthur isn't delusional... not in the normal sense at any rate. He's stuck in his memories right now."

                "His memories? But Queen Victoria died long before any of us were born."

                "In most cases, that would be true. Not in his." Wales proceeded to explain to the two students about the nation situation, something he had done many times before. But this time it was easier because he didn't have to be so professional about it. The students were good listeners, only to ask a question about a term that Wales used that they were not familiar with.

                Once he was done, Victoria remarked, "No wonder he knew so much of obscure history."

                "So," Jose said, "If Arthur is England, what does that make you two?"

                "I'm Wales, and this is Scotland."

                Jose chuckled a bit. "Scotty... Scotland... that's clever," he explained.

                "Why did you tell us all that?" Victoria asked. "It's obvious enough that barely anyone knows about this."

                Wales remembered a time in which most people knew about the nations, back when Pagan traditions were still the norm in his land. He did have human friends then too, people who he would discuss magic with. But, slowly, as public attitudes started shifting to more scientific thought, people started believing the nation story less and less, and eventually, all the nations agreed it was best just to let their bosses, and a handful of other important people, be aware of nation statuses. Wales did miss the days of being able to openly talk to humans. "I feel like I can trust you two to keep a secret," Wales explained, "I hope you don't prove me wrong."

                They were all silent for a bit, then Jose asked if he could use a phone to call his group.

                "Over here," Scotland said, "It's in a different room. It used be a phone room, back when those things still existed."

                "Really?" Jose started following Scotland out of the room.

                "Aye. You do know phones used to be big and bulky things, right?"

                "So, why is Arthur stuck in a memory?" Victoria asked when Jose and Scotland had left, "That can't be normal, even for you guys."

                "No, it's not," Wales agreed, "He overdosed on something and that's what got his memories all jumbled up." The Welshman thought back to the ambrosia. "Tell me," he said slowly, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he could get a clue as to how things escalated to the overdose, "Did you notice anything odd, or a change in his behavior when you two were neighbors?"

                "Not really. Though…" Victoria looked thoughtful for a moment, "He did ask me for help with sleeping pills. I suggested an acquaintance of mine who knew medical things better than I, but that's it."

                "Sleeping pills?" The word surprised Wales, though... it also made him feel better about the whole situation. It suggested that this started off as a medical solution.

                "Yeah, he was saying that he had been having problems sleeping and wanted an opinion on sleeping pills."

                "Wouldn't be the first time," a voice from behind Wales said. Wales turned to see Northern Ireland giving a sad sort of smile, "There was one other time he was asking about them."

                "Right... after the mansion," Wales said, remembering that first week when England came back from that damned place. England spent most of that week drowsy from staying up all night. Eventually, it came to the point in which Scotland knocked England unconscious in order for the sleep-deprived nation to get some sleep. Needless to say, England was not happy after the fact, but since that incident did help England feel better about going to sleep on a regular basis.

                Victoria gave Northern Ireland a look over before saying, "You must be Northern Ireland, then."

                Northern Ireland blinked in surprise. "And how did you come to that conclusion?"

                "Your pin in your hair. It has the colors of Northern Ireland's flag, not Ireland's."

                "I told her and her friend about the nation situation," Wales quickly explained.

                "I'm impressed," Northern Ireland said, sitting down, "Most people assume that I'm Ireland by the accent."

                "Some of my family is from your country, and they get agitated easily when people just assume they are from Ireland. I learned not to do that very quickly."

                "I'd expect so," Northern Ireland said with a grin, "Since you know then, just call me North. It's probably easier to say than Spéir."

                "If you say so. But I do like the name Spéir. It means sky, doesn't it?"

                Wales thought for a moment that Northern Ireland was going to freak out with excitement. "I like you," he said to Victoria. The he turned to Wales, "I like her."

                Wales couldn't help smile a little and shake his head.


	19. Chapter 19

_"Another ship?" England asked, coming up next to Spain. They had been in open waters again for some time now. Memories were still very fleeting, however England felt as though the haze was starting to get less. If he and Spain could get back to port, it would be no problem getting back home. And then, maybe then, everything would become clear, and that this dream would end. However, this was England's first time seeing another ship out on the open waters since boarding Spain's ship. Even by the Spanish port in the new world, all the ships were docked, and the whole town was empty of locals._

_"Si. Odd, isn't it? I haven't seen another ship since coming here. Well, except for yours, but that's different."_

_England took the eyepiece and looked at the flag flying up at the top. "Shit."_

_"What?"_

_"The flag," England said, lowering the eyepiece, "It's Patriot." The word came rushing to his consciousness._

_"It's what?" Spain asked._

_England rocked his knuckles back and forth on his forehead, trying to clear the fog from his mind. Images of memories appeared for a second before disappearing into the fog once again. "American Revolution…" England's soldiers marching in cobbled stone streets. "It's America's first soldiers…" Men in sloppy uniforms appearing as if from no where, like they materialized from the forest's edge. "This encounter isn't going to be pretty…" Being captured by a small group of young rebels in common clothing._

_"But remember, you are on my ship, with my flag," Spain reassured England, "They will only pass us. Go into my cabin. I'll get you when the coast is clear."_

_"No, I'm not in my uniform. They shouldn't know I am British." England had a strong feeling he should stay on deck. Besides, he looked just like the rest of the men... so long as he wore a hat and kept his head low._

_"As long as you don't speak," Spain clarified with a smirk._

_The two of them watch the ship as it came closer and closer. England felt nervous, but he wasn't sure why._ _The ship stopped right next the Spain's, and England could see who the occupants were. There were two individuals on deck: one was Italy in a cabin boy's attire, a red bandanna tied around his head, the other Canada in a maroon pirate captain's cloak, complete with a matching, three tonged feathered hat._

_Spain froze at Italy boarded calmly, Canada right behind him. "What are you doing here?" Spain asked surprised._

_Italy looked nervous. "As a warning. Romano is coming soon, and he's really pissed... more pissed than usual, like he actually wants to kill you pissed." He turned to England, "And you should probably hide."_

_"Why?"_

_"You are to be captured and taken to America's land to stand trial," Canada said, apologetically more than officially, "I don't agree with it, but America is keen on your capture."_

_"How does he even know I'm on this ship?" England asked confused._

_"That would be my fault," Canada said slowly, "I tried not to tell him, but he has a sharp eye." If England had any lingering doubt that this was a dream, this statement solidified it. America was as dense as they come._

_However, the Englishman was more interested as to how Canada got the knowledge of him being on board this ship, at least the dream explanation. England walked over to Canada. "What did you do?"_

_Canada's eyes glowed purple for a second. 'He can use magic?' England thought surprised. "I saw you were here," Canada explained._

_"Canada, get it over with already!" a voice yelled. England looked behind Canada to see America, all grown up and in a Patriot uniform, a rifle strapped around his shoulder. He looked angry, angrier than England had ever seen him... no, he had seen him this angry before, several times in fact, during the revolution._

_Canada's hands were shaking. England held them, unsure of what else to do. His fatherly instinct kicked in at that moment._

_"If you aren't going to do it, get out of the way." Canada was shoved to the side. In America's hands were a pair of handcuffs. England drew out his sword. "Don't be difficult, Britain," America said harshly, eyeing the sword, "You have crimes you have to atone."_

_"Believe it or not, America, I have things I need to do. More important things than a pathetic quarrel about taxes."_

_"I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about you disregarding other people's feelings."_

_"What?" England noticed a blackness that was soaking in the world around him._

_"You heard me. Did you actually believe that no one cared about what you do? That no one would notice if you were gone? Think again. You have crimes you need to answer to." America made to put the handcuffs on, but England dodged the attempt._

_"I can't America." 'This isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real,' England repeated in his head over and over again in an attempt to wake up. Why hasn't he gotten out of this dream yet. There have been so many places where he should have woken up, where the illusion of the dream broke for England. Why was he stuck here?_

_"It's not a matter of can or can't. You are coming with me and that's final."_

_"You still haven't told me what I have done!" England shouted._

_"I thought you would know that," America said in a sad tone, "I may not be apart of your great empire anymore, but I still admire you. Why would you throw everything you are away? Don't you know how hard it is to see your role model being torn apart?"_

_The world around England by this point was entirely black. All he could see was America; his uniform had changed into a bomber jacket. He sighed angrily. "Enough stalling, let's go."_

_England swatted his sword around to try to knock the handcuffs out of America's hands and he ran backwards._ **Dude, where are you going?** _"I keep telling you, there's something I have to do first," England said._

_"No, there isn't. You have to pay for your crimes, here and now." America swung the handcuffs around menacingly._

_England tripped. America came closer, still twirling the handcuffs. "Leave me alone!" Something was holding England in his helpless position; he couldn't even use his sword._

**Chill. I'm just taking you back to bed.**

_America handcuffed England and held onto his wrists. "Let go of me!" England shouted, trying to pull his hands away, "You can't do this to me!"_

**England, it's me. America.**

                The scenery changed as England opened his eyes into one of a small, plain hallway that only had a bed to one side. England was kneeling on the ground, the same position he was in the dream. America in a sweatshirt marked with a flag that looked similar to the one he marched under during his revolution and sweatpants. He was holding England by his wrists and wore a concerned expression. He too was kneeling on the ground. "Don't you recognize me?" America asked worriedly.

                England was still struggling, but it was more out of the fact that his mind was still in escape mode. After a bit, he calmed down. America scooped him up and moved him to the next room, which was a proper bedroom. America put England on the bed.

                "Alright then?" America asked.

                England didn't do anything to suggest he heard. He was in shock; the fog had lessened and England knew for certain that this was reality. Certain memories of the events of the American Revolution come back to conscious thought, and it made England feel as if he was on a roller coaster of emotions. America protesting at England's demands. Battles, both on land and on sea. Being captured by a rebel group of Americans, who seemed to know exactly what he and America were. America being captured by his men, and seeing the aftermath of some of the interrogation. Continuous negotiations leading no where. The written declaration of America's cut ties with Britain. England still had no idea why he was at the house, nor why America of all people was there either. After all, they were at war with each other, though America's attire suggested otherwise.

                "Hey." America snapped his fingers in front of England's face. England immediately looked up. He could tell that America was just holding it together. Probably anger; once again they were at war.

                'But, then why would he be helping me?' England thought as he said, "Tired I guess."

                "Get some sleep then," America said, making to leave.

                England laid down on the bed and covered himself with the blankets. Once the door closed, he could hear a loud bang on the wall and then America shouting, "SHIT!"

                "Is everything alright?" England asked, sitting up. He said it more out of fatherly habit than anything else.

                The door opened again. "Fine, just fine," America said with a fake smile on.

                England laid back down on the bed. He didn't close his eyes; instead he stared out the window at the night sky above, which was relatively clear. The door closed, and America came in. "Do you want me to stay with you?"

                England nodded then stopped; he thought it was weird America would offer something like that. "Is this a trick?" England asked warily.

                America gave England a look that read "Are-you-kidding-me?". "No," America said, "Why would you think that?"

                "We're at war," England said bluntly.

                America's face was blank. England thought back to what he stated to Spain earlier. America's first soldiers. American Revolution. Past tense, meaning that the war was over... and that America won. England felt a pang in his chest at the thought of it, but it wasn't anything much. Apparently, he had already come to terms of that time, he had just forgotten.

                "So…" America asked awkwardly after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, "Do you want me to sing to you?"

                England gave him a look, "You can't sing." A memory popped up in his mind; some karaoke thing with America doing whale calls in a microphone that somehow translated into singing, so said the American. England remembered it annoyed him, because he had taught America to sing better than that.

                "I can at least try," America said, rolling his eyes.

                "Fine." He just needed to get through the night. He didn't want to go to sleep again. He wanted to stay awake and keep his memories. America was typically bad at singing anyway, bad enough that England could never imagine falling asleep to it.

Oh Shenandoah,  
I long to see you,  
Away you rolling river.  
Oh Shenandoah,  
I long to see you,  
Away, I'm bound away,  
Across the wide Missouri.

                 "I forgotten you can sing if you actually try," England commented quietly. America actually sounded pretty good for once, and England didn't mind admitting to being wrong for once. He was secretly glad that something he taught the young nation actually stuck.

'Tis seven years,  
since last I've seen you,  
Away, you rolling river.  
'Tis seven years,  
since last I've seen you,  
Away, we're bound away,  
Across the wide Missouri.

Farewell, my dear,  
I'm bound to leave you  
Away, you rolling river  
O Shenandoah,  
I'll not deceive you  
Away, I'm bound away  
'Cross the wide Missouri

                England started feeling drowsy, and he became frightened again. He sat up quickly to brush off the drowsiness. He needed to make sure that he wouldn't forget everything. He realized he had been going around and around memories, forgetting and remembering different things every time. He didn't want that to happen again.

                "What are you doing?" America asked and England opened the drawer in the nightstand and pulled out a notebook and pen. The pen looked almost alien to him, and he stared at it for a good two minutes, before America took the pen and fixed it so England could write.

                "I'm afraid I'm going to forget things again," England explained, writing in the notebook as fast as he could.

                "Dude, you have amnesia, not Alzheimer's," America said, rolling his eyes, "You're old, but not that old. Yet."

                England glowered at America for a brief moment, then continued on. Once England was done, he closed the book.

                "Better?" America asked.

                England nodded.

                "What did you write?"

                "The situation as I know it to be." England thought back to the dream world. That Canada did something with magic… could the real Canada do something similar? "Can you ask Canada something?"

                "You can ask him yourself tomorrow."

                "Well, if I forget again. This is important." England used his serious voice that he used to use when telling young America something important, or scolding him.

                America sighed, but nodded. "What is it?" he asked seriously.

                "Ask him if he was ever able to practice magic again."

                America opened his mouth to say something, but changed his mind and said, "Alright, I will. But only if you sleep."

                England lay back down on the bed. America put the book on the side table, and started singing another song. One that England used to sing to America when he was only a child.

Lay down your head and I'll sing you a lullaby  
Back to the years of yesteryear  
And I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow  
Bless you with love for the road that you go

May you sail fair to the far fields of fortune  
With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet  
And may you need never to banish misfortune  
May you find kindness in all that you meet

May there always be angels to watch over you  
To guide you each step of the way  
To guard you and keep you safe from all harm

England allowed himself to slip away again, into a dream-like memory.

 

_England and America looked at each other intently. America had fire in his eyes, as did all the men that were with him. Each of them were carrying a rifle or gun of some nature. If they were all in matching uniform, England would have mistaken them for some small army; this group of disenters were in various clothes, all of which suggested the common man._

_"What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?" England said, coming up to America._

_America had a hard look, almost like a mask hiding something, but England could not tell what. "You are going no further," the young nation said in a voice of authority England had never heard from him before._

_"America, throw down your arms," England said rolling his eyes. Surely, America was not serious in this little protest? "As you can clearly see, my troops outnumber yours. I could take you out in less than a minute. Throw down your arms now, and I will see that the punishment for your men is light."_

_"Yeah, right." America spit at England's feet, which riled up England's soldiers._

_England put up a hand and they all calmed down outwardly (inwardly was an entirely different matter). "Put down your weapons, you little..."_

_"Or what, exactly?" America said, "What exactly are you going to do to me?"_

_England could feel himself being torn apart. "Don't force my hand," he said, angrier than he actually felt, "You have been causing me trouble for a long time. I will not hesitate to put this little rebellion down." In reply, the front line of England's troops aimed their rifles at America's rebel soldiers. England got back up on his horse. "Now for the last time, put down your arms!" England did not want to use force on America. He truly didn't, not to his little brother. England had the power to completely crush the little colony; he prayed it wouldn't have to come to that._

_America sighed angrily and slowly started to put down his weapon; England figured America knew the same fact about his strength. England could hear some unrest in the group of rebels, but that was to be expected. If any of them were to run, they would be shot without hesitation. No one was going to escape._

_At that moment, a shot fired. England turned to find the source of the sound as he heard his own men fire in response. He caught a glance at a girl in men's clothing holding a musket and having a look of complete fury in her navy blue eyes. England was frozen in shock for only a moment; the girl nodded to herself and disappeared into the building she was in. England mentally shook his head and tried to regain order of his men; by that time the damage had already been done, and America glared at England._

_"I hope you know what you have started, you devil," America said, and for a moment England could have sworn there was a red tint in America's eyes._

                'No, America, I didn't know what I started. Even if I didn't fire that first shot, I was the one to begin that whole war. For better or for worse, I am responsible for what happened thereafter.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: Since this is the only time she comes up in this story, I would like to point out the girl who fired the first shot. She is the personification of Massachusetts.


	20. Chapter 20

                Wales was surprised to see that America, for once, was up earlier than he was. The younger nation was looking out into the thin air, Taliesin curled up in his lap. "Something wrong?" Wales asked after seeing America's face, which looked a bit pale.

                America turned to look at Wales. "You won't take 'I'm fine' for an answer, right?"

                "Not in this case," Wales said. It was painfully obvious something was wrong. "Coffee?"

                America nodded and Wales put the kettle on. "England woke up during the night," America explained after a time.

                "And?" There had to be something else; that alone wouldn't bother America.

                "He thought we were fighting some war, I think. He didn't trust me at first."

                "At first?"

                "Yeah. I think he accepted the fact that we weren't."

                "That's an improvement," Wales said revealed, bringing over America's coffee and his tea to the table, "So what is your problem?"

                America tapped the sides of his coffee mug in thought. "Could the ambrosia have caused permanent brain damage?" America asked eventually.

                "No, not to a nation. We heal differently than normal people, you know that."

                "Yeah, but..."

                "You're afraid that it still could happen," Wales said, finishing America's sentence.

                America gave Wales a bitch face. "Seriously, can you stop doing that? It's creepy."

                Wales grinned slightly. "Not exactly my fault that you are very easy to read."

                America opened his mouth to voice an objection, but then noticed Victoria come into the room and closed his mouth. "Did they dry?" Wales asked, taking note Victoria was wearing the clothes she came with and not the over-sized jumper.

                "Yes, it helps when they are next to a fire all night." Victoria looked at America for a moment.

                "Tea?" Wales asked. Victoria nodded, sitting down across from America. "That is America. America, this is Victoria. And yes, America, she knows."

                "Dude, not cool," America said to Wales, as he set down Victoria's tea.

                "What?" Wales asked.

                "Reading my mind. I just finished saying that it's creepy."

                "I would think by know you would have gotten used to it."

                America glared at Wales until Victoria spoke up, "Do you have a human name as well, like Arthur?"

                "Yeah, it's Alfred F. Jones."

                Victoria smiled a bit, "What, does the "F" stand for freedom?"

                "Naw, it's Franklin, as in Benjamin Franklin."

                Victoria closed her eyes for a moment, "He's... one of the people to... help start your country, right?"

                "Yeah, wow. Most people don't get that."

                "I study history, though I mostly focus with European history. I remember that fact because my American friend scolded me harshly when I said he was one of the presidents." Victoria turned to Wales, "Do you mind if I continue to call you Dylan?" she asked.

                Wales shook his head. "No, I don't mind, but I must ask why?"

                "It's more personal," Victoria said, "You can choose your name, to represent more of who you are as a person. It must sound weird, considering you are based on who your people are."

                "But I understand your meaning."

                "So... where you from?" America asked.

                "Funny enough, I'm from your country, Dylan. Though I've lived in London for most of my life."

                Jose came into the room, followed by Northern Ireland. Jose looked in better spirits than he did the say before; Wales presumed it was because the boy was going to be reunited with his guitar. Jose did say, once he got back from his call, how much music was apart of his life. "Whenever you're ready, Victoria," Jose said, "Though we don't want to wait for too long, or else Kevin will be on our cases."

                "He'll be on our cases whether we like it or not, but I get your point." Victoria stood up. "Nice to meet you, Dylan. Alfred. Maybe we'll meet again."

 

                Northern Ireland walked to the village with the two students, since he knew the way and wanted to go. It was a simple matter getting there really, which made Victoria and Jose all the more embarrassed. "The rain makes everything look different," Northern Ireland was telling them, trying to assure them it wasn't a big deal, "Especially if you aren't familiar with the area."

                "It's what we get for not bothering with a map," Victoria stated.

                "Oh, now if you hadn't gotten lost, we wouldn't have met," Northern Ireland said, "So, this group of yours, are they more students?"

                Victoria and Jose nodded.

                "Are you all in the same class?"

                "No. We're actually in a band together," Jose said, his eyes sparkling a bit.

                "Really?"

                "Sort of," Victoria clarified, "We don't have an official name and we don't have a complete original song."

                "There's Sato's song," Jose pointed out, pointing a finger at Victoria.

                "Yes," Victoria agreed, "Well, Sato's song can't be done on it's own either."

                "And why's that?" Northern Ireland asked.

                "It's in Japanese for one," Victoria said, "And it wasn't written to be a stand alone song."

                "Oh?" Northern Ireland asked, intrigued.

                "We have a grand vision of uniting the world in song," Jose said, smiling like the sun.

                "It sounds stupid," Victoria started to explain, "But I, and everyone else, believe that music can connect people, regardless of nation or language. That's how we all met to begin with."

                Northern Ireland nodded in agreement. Through all the arguments with Ireland, music was the one thing they could agree on completely.

                The three of them reached the village, where Victoria and Jose's group was at the center, which consisted of eight other people.

                "Geez Louise, guys," the one who was wearing an American flag shirt said, "You have got to be kidding me. How the hell did you get that lost?"

                "Luck," Victoria said, "Just plain old luck."

                "So who's this?" asked a girl with long brown hair, braided tied together by a flower. She handed Jose his guitar, which he hugged.

                "I'm North," Northern Ireland said. He figured that people would just assume it was a nickname and leave it at that.

                He was then introduced to the whole group: Gretel, Kevin (the dude in the American flag shirt), Taylor, Valentina, Sota, Gennarino, Chloé, Raisa, and Martina (the braided girl).

                "I heard you guys are all in a band together," Northern Ireland said after everyone introduced themselves.

                "Working on it, you mean," Gretel corrected. She had an annoyed look on her face, but Northern Ireland didn't think it was a personal thing. "It's more of an idea just starting to take flight."

                "Can I hear something of yours?" Northern Ireland asked, "I heard Sota had a song."

                Everyone looked at Sota. "It is not completed yet," Sota said slowly.

                "I don't mind."

                Jose tuned up his guitar. "What we want to do is make this song into different languages," Sota explained, "Right now, it's only in Japanese. My first language."

                Northern Ireland nodded. "Let's have it then."

Maru kaite chikyuu  
Maru kaite chikyuu  
Maru kaite chikyuu  
Nihon to moushimasu  
Marukaite chikyuu  
Jitto mite chikyuu  
Hyotto shite chikyuu  
Nihon to moushimasu  
Aa hitofude de  
Mieru subarashii sekai  
Hakumai wa saikou da  
Appare da!

                Northern Ireland had to admit that Sota had a beautiful voice, though it was quite and lacked confidence. "And you wrote that yourself?"

                Sota nodded.

                "It sounds great. I have no idea what it means though."

                "I have it translated in English if that helps." Sota pulled out a notebook and flipped to a page.

                "A tad bit, yeah," Northern Ireland read the translation. It talked a bit about Japan and that culture. "And you are doing this in different languages?"

                "Not exactly. Same tune, same song, different words representing different countries," Taylor explained, "So one for Germany in German, one for Italy in Italian, so on and so forth. We're working on America right now."

                Northern Ireland was ecstatic. He hadn't heard anyone doing anything like this before. "Do you mind if I ask for you number?" Northern Ireland said, "I want to keep in touch with you guys. Who knows? I might be able to help you."

                "Really?" Jose said excitedly.

                "Seeing as I know people. Let me give you mine as well, in case you get lost again." Northern Ireland winked at Victoria, which she smiled sheepishly at. Numbers were exchanged. "I should be heading back or else Ire will have my head."

                "Before you go," Gretel said, "Why are you called North?"

                'Well, there goes no one noticing,' Northern Ireland thought as he looked at the group. "It's just a nickname," North explained, "Because I'm the only one in my family from Northern Ireland. My real name is Spéir. I figured North would be easier to pronounce." Not really a lie, more of just an incomplete truth.

                Victoria had a smirk on her face, as she nodded. No doubt she got the hint; not to say a word about the nations' situation.

                Northern Ireland headed up the path back to the house. As he did so, he could see the sky getting darker as deep grey clouds filled the sky. 'It's going to rain again,' he thought, quickening his pace. He had an umbrella with him, but that did not mean he wanted to get caught out in a rainstorm. Luckily, he made it back just as the rain started, because that was when the heavens opened up their flood gates and it started pouring.

 

**(Meanwhile)**

                Canada saw England looking at the electric kettle with confused interest. "Something wrong?" Canada asked tentatively.

                "Yeah, what's this supposed to do?" England asked, tapping the kettle.

                "Boil water," Canada said simply, trying not to sound annoyed.

                "Really?" England asked surprised.

                "Yeah, using electricity."

                England took a deep breath as if to say something, but seemed to change his mind. "Never mind about that. There's something I need to ask you about."

                "What's that?" Canada got nervous. America did say that there was something England wanted to ask of him, but didn't say what it was.

                "Were you able to use magic again? I know that you just suddenly stopped using it when you were young. I want to know if you were able to use it again."

                "Oh, that…" Canada was surprised that England took interest in it, "Not until recently. Wales is teaching me. He's writing a spell book for me to use."

                "Oh, that's good."

                "Is there something wrong?" Canada asked.

                "It's my mind. I know I'm missing memories, but I don't know what they are. I know you should be as old as you are, but I don't know how you've grown to be the person you are."

                "Don't worry, they'll come back soon enough. At least you know you are missing memories, eh? That's an improvement."

                "I guess." England still looked down.

                Canada got in front of England. "Anything you want to know, anything to help with your memories, just ask. That's why I'm here. That's why we're all here."

                England nodded. After a few moments, he puts his arms around Canada for a hug. "I don't think I can handle anything right now."

                Canada hugged his adopted father back. "That's ok too."

 

**(Sometime after Northern Ireland got back)**

                It was completely dark out and pouring thick sheets of rain when Ireland walked into the room with the fireplace. It was a large room, but there was nothing much in it besides a handful of couches, chairs, and a tea table. The only light came from the fireplace, which was now dimly lit. At first, Ireland thought it was because no one was in the room. But as he came closer to the fireplace, he noticed one of the chairs was occupied by Wales; Ireland could see the top of his head.

                "If you're going to be reading, put a light on," Ireland said, kneeling down to put more wood on the fire, "That or actually take care of the fireplace."

                There wasn't a reply. Ireland looked behind him to see Wales actually asleep in the chair. The book he was reading was lying in his lap, his thumb serving as the bookmark. His head was leaning against the side of the chair. His free hand had once probably held up Wales' head, but now was extended outwards on the armrest. He certainly did look exhausted for the whole day, so Ireland wasn't too surprised.

                'But why didn't you just go to bed if you were so tired?' he thought as he focused on tending the fire. It took a bit to save it, but after a few minutes, the embers caught aflame to the new wood and the orange yellow glow lit up the room. The warmth from the new flames, while yes not has hot as embers, definitely gave off heat that warmed up the room again fairly quickly.

                "Ire…" Wales muttered quietly.

                "What?" Ireland glanced back at his brother. His eyes were half open and from what Ireland could tell, they were glowing turquoise, the color of Wales' eyes.

                "We're… next…" Wales said, his brow furring and his eyes closing again. He moved his head so that he was facing the other direction.

                Ireland knew what was going on. Sometimes the same thing happened to him; Wales' dreams were getting mixed up with his visions and those two things should never get mixed up for long. "Oi, Wales," Ireland said, a level just over indoor volume, "Wake up." He snapped his fingers together, and green/blue sparks flew from them.

                Wales' eyes snapped fully open, the turquoise glowing dissipating. He looked over at Ireland, his face was calm, but his eyes were still wide. He was terrified of something that was for sure. "Alright?" Wales asked, looking up at Ireland as if there was nothing the matter. Wales was damn good at doing that; his almighty poker face.

                "I'm fine. You sure aren't."

                Wales closed his eyes and the poker face dropped into a look of concern. "No," he agreed, "I hate it when visions get in my dreams."

                "It sucks, doesn't it? What was it, if you remember? I know I was in it."

                "How?" Wales asked as he bookmarked the page he was reading and closed the book.

                "You called out my name."

                "Oh…" Wales sounded defeated. He placed the book on the side table next to the chair.

                "You weren't going to tell me, weren't you?"

                "No, I wasn't. I don't like talking about the dream ones; I can never tell what is fiction and what is vision."

                "I'm in it, so you are honor bound to tell. It's not like I was in some kind of sexual position, right?"

                "…I don't even want to think about what you dream about," Wales said after looking at Ireland judgingly. He sighed, "It starts with me in the forest right outside Camelot. And I'm walking up to Camelot, but as I walk it moves forward into what it looks like today."

                "There's a city now, isn't there?"

                Wales nods. "But it doesn't stop there; the city turns into ruins, like it got bombed in some attack. I reach the heart of the city, where there is this figure standing in the middle of the ruins. It is a girl, dressed in a soldier's uniform for a nation I have never seen before. She says… something like will you surrender at last."

                "At last?"

                "I don't even know what that means. I never did answer her. Not directly at any rate. I run towards you, I think in warning."

                "We're next?"

                "Yes, why, did I say that as well?"

                Ireland nodded.

                "And then, the scene completely changes, and England is in front of me, but he is wearing that black cape he wears when he's doing his dark rituals. There are tears in his eyes, and Northern Ireland says, "Don't worry, you'll be joining us soon enough." That I remember clearly. And then you woke me up."

                "That's about as complicated as my dream-visions," Ireland remarked.

                "And at least you know what's going on in those upon awakening. I sometimes never find out."

                Ireland mouthed, "Don't worry, you'll be joining us soon enough." Even mouthing it, he felt a bad taste in his mouth. "It doesn't bode well," he said out loud.

                "I've learned to forget them, because I can never tell if they are just dreams or if there is some truth to them."

                "But do you ever truly forget?" Ireland asks.

                "…no. They stay with me like a stone. And as the events unfold, either I can stop them or watch as they unravel, mostly the latter because I don't have the power to stop the turning of events."

                "But at least there is a chance you can change the future. What good is it to watch past events again and again, knowing there is nothing you can do to change what has already occurred?"

                "Humans have a reason for it." Wales shrugged.

                "Do they?"

                "Memorials, museums, movies… they keep watching and rewatching the past, their collective histories. Their reason for it is to learn from it, so that maybe next time, things won't turn out the same. They say history repeats itself."

                "That history repeats itself until the human race is ready to move on," Ireland said quietly, more to himself than to Wales.

                Lighting cracked outside. Ireland could hear footfalls, and Northern Ireland runs into the room and tackled Ireland from behind.

                "My, Go… are you still afraid of a bit of thunder?" Ireland said.

                "…yes," Northern Ireland said quietly. He was shaking.

                "It's alright," Wales said, coming down on the ground to join the brothers. "You're safe here."

                Another thunder crash and Northern Ireland wrapped his arms around Ireland, clinging tightly. Ireland hugged him back, remembering the day Ireland first realized Northern Ireland was afraid of thunder. Wales held them both and started humming Greensleeves. The storm raged on, with no sign of letting up.

                "There you are," Scotland said, coming into the room after a time. He noticed the huddle. He didn't say anything but closed the blinds on the windows of the room, then came into the huddle and wrapped his arms around everyone. They stayed that way, on the ground, humming along with Wales until the lights came on, turned on by Australia, who realized his mistake, turned them back off, and left the room.

 

**(Ireland's Flashback)**

_Ireland watched the whole scene from a close distance. North was in the middle of an empty field, looking down at a small bump in the ground marked only by flowers. It was raining, and there was thunder in the distance. North stood there for a long time, then he fell to his knees. At that point, Ireland came up to his friend._

_"Why do you stay in this place?" Ireland asked. Then he noticed the charm North had made a few days prior, North's fingers close to bleeding._

_"I'm trying to bring them back," North said through his tears, "I want my family back."_

_Ireland hugged North, he could feel his friend shaking. "I'll be your family," he whispered to North, "We can be brothers. We look enough alike."_

_Lightning flashed close by, and a terrific bang resounded like the world was going to end. North hugged Ireland tighter, and started crying all over again, out of fear._

_"Britannia will be our mum," Ireland said, trying to keep North calm, as well as himself, "She will care for us, and I'll protect you. You won't be alone. I promise." Ireland could see dark blue and green sparks shoot from his hands and surround him and North. "I promise, you'll never have to be alone," Ireland said again, almost mouthing the words because he said them so softly._


	21. Chapter 21

_England noticed a flash come from the window. He looked up and realized that the rain had turned into a thunder storm. He was glad that he was on dry land for once and not out on the sea. The stormy seas were no safe place for any vessel._

_The door to England's study opens a bit. England looked up to see Canada, wide eyed. "Um…" the younger nation says._

_"What's wrong? I thought you were in bed."England said, in an almost chiding manner._

_"Well…" There was another lightning crack, and Canada ran to England and clung onto his leg. Little Canada started crying, burying his tears in England's pant leg._

_England closed his book and scooped up the scared Canada. "Shh," he said kindly, trying to get Canada to stop crying, "It's just a bit of thunder. Nothing to be worried about."_

_"B..b..but it's sssssso loud. Lo…louder than Ammmmerica c…c…can ever b…b…be."_

_"Be sure not to mention that to him, because he'll try to be louder. And neither you or I would ever hear the end of it."_

_Canada nodded, and sniffed. England took him back to his room. America was up too, sitting on his bed holding his pillow. He was looking determined, which made England worry something was about to go horribly wrong._

_"And why are you up?" England asked with an eyebrow raised._

_"Canada woke me up." America said, pointing an accusing finger at Canada._

_Canada turned to look at America. "D...did not."_

_"Did to."_

_"Did not."_

_"Did to."_

_"Did not."_

_"Di-"_

_"Crash" there was a flash of lighting immediately accompanied by the thunder. Canada buried his face into England shoulder and America yelped. England sat down on America's bed and reached out an arm for the kid. America came over to England and let his elder hold him. England did have to admit that last one even scared him a bit since it was so close. He rocked back and forth on the bed, and started singing quietly to calm his little ones._

_"Little child, be not afraid_   
_The rain pounds harsh against the glass_   
_Like an unwanted stranger_   
_There is no danger_   
_I am here tonight_

_Little child_   
_Be not afraid_   
_Though thunder explodes_   
_And lightning flash_   
_Illuminates your tear-stained face_   
_I am here tonight_

_And someday you'll know_   
_That nature is so_   
_This same rain that draws you near me_   
_Falls on rivers and land_   
_And forests and sand_   
_Makes the beautiful world that you see_   
_In the morning"_

_He put America and Canada back in their respective beds as he sang once he knew that they weren't clutching onto him for dear life. Canada had fallen back asleep; America was still awake, but it was obvious he was on the boarder of consciousness. The storm seemed to be calming down, which was a relief for England._

_"Little child_   
_Be not afraid_   
_The storm clouds mask your beloved moon_   
_And its candlelight beams_   
_Still keep pleasant dreams_   
_I am here tonight_

_Little child_   
_Be not afraid_   
_The wind makes creatures of our trees"_

_England glanced at the window, where the storm was still clearly visible to the occupants of the room. He walked over there and pulled the blinds closed so that in case the lightning came back the little ones wouldn't see it._

_"And the branches to hands  
They're not real, understand"_

_Which he said more to the comfort of the children than what was really true. Sometimes the creatures most people would deem as fiction were real; not in the case for that day, but sometimes they were and they even scared England._

_"And I am here tonight_

_And someday you'll know_   
_That nature is so_   
_This same rain that draws you near me_   
_Falls on rivers and land_   
_And forest and sand_   
_Makes the beautiful world that you see_   
_In the morning"_

_Then he kissed Canada and America on the forehead as a goodnight gesture and headed to the door to leave._

_"England?" America asked quietly._

_"Hm?" England tried not to groan. He was hoping America had fallen asleep again._

_America had sat up and was looking at England with questioning eyes. "Why does the sky have to do that? All the lights and sound?"_

_England came back to America's bed. Truth be told, he had no idea. "It's because someone told a really good joke up in heaven and God is laughing."_

_"Does He have to sound so mean doing that?" America asked, not buying it at all._

_England glanced up at the ceiling for a moment. "I guess not."_

_"Come on, what's the real reason? I'm not a kid, you know."_

_"Oh really?" England asked amused. Once again, America had that determined look on his face, which made his statement all the more amusing. England sometimes forgot that America wasn't the five year old his physical appearance and personality suggested he was. "It's... just something that happens when it rains really hard."_

_"But couldn't it just rain lightly? I like it better when it does that. Then I can play outside."_

_"Not all the time. Sometimes it does have to rain really hard. That's how the world becomes beautiful. Now go to sleep."_

_"Can we go out and see it tomorrow?"_

_"Only if you go to sleep."_

_America lay back down on the bed and England got up to leave the room. When he opened the door, Taliesin was there. He ran over to America and curled up beside him. America reached out to the dragon and held the creature close to him like a teddy bear. England went back downstairs, where Wales was standing by the fireside looking very wet._

_"Did you have to travel in that?" England asked._

_"Yes, I did," Wales said, taking off his cloak, "There's trouble coming. You're needed in the government."_

_"Who is it this time?"_

_"Spain."_

_England looked out the window. Of course it had to be Spain. "How long until I have to be there?"_

_Wales raised an eyebrow. "Why do you ask?"_

_"I promised America we'd do something together tomorrow."_

_"…As long as you ride out by week's end, you should be fine." Wales sighed as he collapsed into a chair. "I'll be glad once distant communications are invented," he stated wearily._

_"Is this from one of your visions?" England asked._

_"Yes. It's odd device; it sends out messages through taps. It can travel long distances. I'm not sure how it works and it won't come until a long time from now."_

_England shook his head and sat down in a chair beside Wales. "Your visions are the strangest things."_

_"But they have come in handy on many occasions. And will continue to do so." Wales glanced at the doorway to the room. "Where are the little ones?"_

_"In bed, or they should be." England quickly turned around, half expecting America to be in the doorway of the room. Thankfully, he wasn't._

_"I only ask because there was something else I saw, dealing with them."_

_"Both of them?"_

_Wales nodded. "Nothing anytime soon, but they will be at war with each other. I'm not sure why, though. I only ask for you to be careful when they get older."_

_"They won't be at war with each other. They are with me."_

_"One day, they won't." England gave Wales a scowl. "Or they might not," Wales quickly added in, "But... you know nothing lasts forever, right?"_

_England nodded and looked out of the window._

                'Nothing ever lasts forever, does it, Wales? I should have listened to you then.'


	22. Chapter 22

                Ireland woke up and sat up all at once, his left hand flew up to his cheek which stung lightly. He felt someone slap him in the face and he knew it was done in a scolding manner. There was only one person who would do that. Britannia.

                "Ire, somethin' wrong?" Northern Ireland asked, turning to face Ireland. His eyes were half open.

                "No, nothing," Ireland responded, "Go back to sleep."

                Northern Ireland closed his eyes again. Ireland waited a few moments until he was sure that his brother was asleep again before getting up and leaving the room. He walked down the hallway until he found an open door. Peering in, he found it to be Wales' room. Wales himself was asleep; he still look exhausted, which made Ireland question how much sleep his brother was getting. His head was cradled in his arm, with his dominant hand was facing the doorway, ready for action. It was self-defense against people who'd attack him in his vulnerability, aka: Scotland, England, and Ireland (sometimes all at once, if they could actually coordinate together long enough). That was in their younger days, but the habit never changed. At the foot of the bed was the reason the door was open: Britannia in all her angelic glory.

                Ireland backed away slowly; based from what Scotland said she wasn't happy with him at all and he did not want to see an angry Britannia. Her fury was still very clear in his mind from when she was alive.

                He ran into Scotland as he was backing up. Scotland grabbed onto his shoulders. They said not a word but watched as their mother was reading a book.

                "Boys?" Britannia asked not looking up, "Do you know what this book is?" She held it up to show Ireland and Scotland.

                "It might be the spell book Wales was writing up for Canada," Ireland said, remembering that Wales came up to him the other day, asking about spells.

                "Oh? You've never told me about Canada, Scotshire."

                "He never really came up in our conversations. He doesn't really do much."

                Britannia closed the book and walked out of the room, shutting off the light. Once she closed the door she turned to Scotland. "He's in the house, yes? Show me. And you," she turned to Ireland. "What did I ask you to do?"

                "To look after my brother."

                "Brothers," she corrected him, hitting Ireland on the head with the book to stress the syllables, "I don't care what you got into an argument about, but it has gone on long enough."

                "Aye, Mum," Ireland said guiltily. He wasn't really expecting his first conversation with his mum to be a scolding.

                They took her over to Canada's room, then Scotland left to go to bed. Ireland stayed with Britannia, seeing as this is the first time in a very long time that he had seen Britannia. They walked into the room. Britannia walked around the bed and looked at Canada.

                "He's France's child," she stated, "The hair is the same."

                "England adopted him when he was younger."

                Britannia gave him a look. "You mean he took over his land?"

                "No, I mean adopted. France couldn't keep him anymore, so England took Canada in."

                "Hm…" Britannia gave Canada another look over, "What is your impression of Canada?"

                "He's quiet and never really argues, except with America, but then again they are brothers. I've actually never heard of any stories of him getting really mad at anyone ever, except for hockey. He helped out during this one bad war for our side..." Ireland was at a loss for words; he couldn't seem to get the right ones out to completely capture Canada. In honest truth, he really liked Canada. They always seemed to agree on similar things.

                "So he is a valuable ally?"

                "He's more than that," Ireland said quickly, "He's… family." The word felt odd on Ireland's lips, but they felt right.

                "You should take a lesson from him then." Britannia wrote something in the book, then set it down on the nightstand. Then she put a hand on Canada's head. "My blessing be upon you, Canada. May you be protected by the graces of your land." Her eyes glowed green as she placed the blessing on Canada.

                "What does it do?" Ireland asked, the question being something that had always been on his mind, "Your blessing?"

                Britannia gave a mysterious smile, but didn't answer the question. Ireland wasn't surprised; Britannia never answered questions she didn't want to answer. Once they left the room, Britannia asked. "Now, where is Sasana?"

                Ireland led her to England's room. "He's in there. Not the first room, but the room after."

                "Thank you, Ire. You can go back to bed; I didn't mean for you to wake up anyway."

                "Your slap said otherwise," Ireland said, not at all amused.

                "That's because you've been being stupid. Don't think that because I'm dead that I can't see what you are doing. I can see fine from heaven." Britannia gave Ireland a hug, something he wasn't expecting at all. "You can never give up on family. Your brothers never have, and you shouldn't either. I know the past is your specialty, and that it haunts you, but that does not mean you can hold onto grudges."

                Ireland nodded, unsure of what else to do. He knew she was right; she always was.

                "Now to bed with you, child. We will see each other again."

                "But not for a long time," Ireland pointed out.

                "No, I hope not for your sake. But when the time comes, I wait in heaven for you with open arms."

 

                America slowly opened his eyes. He heard the door close on the other side of the room. 'Is it morning already?' he thought. He sat up and he saw a woman in white looking back at him. She looked like what America would imagine to be the girl version of England with long hair and older.

                "The hero of Europe," she said, "And yet can't see the magical folk without help. How are you my grandson?"

                "Who are you?" America asked slowly. He glanced down at his cell phone, which read that it was two o'clock in the morning.

                "I am Britannia. Tell me, why did you forsake magic?"

                "It wasn't like I could use it in the first place," America groaned. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have at a godforsaken time of day.

                "Except you shocked England awake not too long ago."

                "Hey, that was a coincidence he woke up after I did that."

                "Is that your word for it? My, my, you are blind. Not to mention that you've used it as a child." Britannia's eyes glowed green for a moment. "Ah… I see now."

                "What?"

                Britannia said nothing more on the matter, though her face looked saddened. She made for England's door.

                "What are you doing?" America asked.

                "I'm going to see my son."

                She entered through and America followed. England seemed to be sleeping in peace for the moment. He was facing the window, no doubt he was looking at the stars as he fell asleep.

                "You admire him," Britannia stated as she brushed England's hair.

                "Once, when I was a kid." America shrugged.

                "You still do. I can see it in your eyes."

                "And then he had to get himself killed… almost killed," America corrected himself.

                "Even the strongest have their weak moments. You should know that," Britannia pointed out, "No one can be strong forever, not even you. This is why we are gifted with families, to support us in our weakest moments and cheer us on when we feel like giving up." Britannia said a spell and her eyes flashed green for a moment once again. "This wasn't done out of defeat of life."

                "So you're saying he wasn't trying to commit suicide?"

                Britannia shook her head, "But that is his story to tell, not mine. In the morning, he'll be himself, memories intact and in order. Maybe then, if he feels up to it, he'll tell you what happened."

                They left the room. Britannia handed America a small pocket sized book. "For when you are ready. No doubt you will need magic one day, and that day is closer than you think."

                "Ma'am," America said, a smirk coming onto his face, "Science runs the world nowadays."

                "Only until an apocalypse arises, and for you, it's going to happen sooner than you realize."

                "The world is going to end?" America asked, his eyes widening.

                "No, not that drastic. Not yet, anyway. No, but your country will fall one day, sooner than what many expect."

                America paled.

                "Don't look so upset. This is the world order after all, no matter how premature it is. Countries change, disappear, and fade away, leaving room for the next age to begin."

                "And you are telling me this because…?"

                "You are young. Don't waste the time you have given to you."

                "And yet you have me a magic book." America raised an eyebrow.

                Britannia glares at America. "That  _is_  being productive. It's preparing you for your journey ahead."

                "I find it a waste of time, especially since I have no interest in it whatsoever."

                "You really don't know when to shut up, do you?" Britannia put a hand on America's shoulder, sat him on the bed, placed her index finger on his forehead, and said, "Sleep."

                America blacked out instantly.

 _Though, as he floated in the darkness of sleep, he thought he heard a calming voice say,_   **"My blessing be upon you, America. May you be protected by the graces of your land, and that trouble doesn't find you until you are ready to face it."**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apocalypse in this sense is using the second definition, which is "an event involving destruction or damage on an awesome or catastrophic scale."  
> Translation: Sasana - England


	23. Chapter 23

                England woke up and almost freaked when he found himself not on the floor of his flat. But then the memories of the past few weeks came back to him and he calmed down some. He had a headache, but he figured that his mind was intact at long last.

                The first thing he did was change out of the sweatshirt, and put on his usual attire. Then he looked at the sweatshirt; it was the same one Wales got him for Christmas a few years back. 'How the bloody hell did anyone find this?' he thought, folding it up and putting it on the bed. He thought he hid it well enough so no one would find it. Apparently not. He never really liked sweatshirts, but he did have to admit it was soft and warm. Not that he was going to wear one again any time soon. England walked out of the room. There was no one in the next room, which surprised him. He went down to the kitchen, where Scotland was trying to fix his lighter. He looked up when England walked into the room.

                "You're up," Scotland noted, looking up from his project for a moment, then returning to it right away.

                England nodded. "Where's everyone else?"

                "In the other room. Australia's telling stories about his adventures."

                England nodded and took a seat in front of Scotland. He knew about Australia's stories. They were supposed to be really good.

                Scotland paused for a moment, then looked at England. "You do know who he is, right?" Scotland asked.

                "Yes, I do," England said, then added after, "I think I'm back to normal." His head was clear for once; there was no fogginess.

                "Good." Scotland stood up and grabbed England's shoulder from behind. "You are going to explain yourself then."

                Before England had any time to react, he felt himself being picked up by Scotland and dragged over to the fireplace room, where everyone was gathered around Australia, who was standing in front of the fire. They all became silent when Scotland plopped England on a chair and dragged the chair in front of everyone else. Australia moved to join his audience.

                "Go on," Scotland growled as he sat next to Wales.

                England sighed. He didn't want to do this first thing in the morning, but when Scotland gave anyone that stare that he was giving England at that moment, let's just say no one argued against it. After England took a few moments to adjust himself and get his thoughts together, he began his story of events:

_England kept his head held high throughout the entire meeting, even though his hands were shaking. As the papers were signed, he could feel pieces of himself being taken out of him. It was painful, but he couldn't let anyone see it. That would be even worse. He was the last to sign; the last twist of the knife. The second he was let go, he ran into a private room and screamed his head off to relieve the pain. Tears started to fall from his eyes and he sank to the floor in agony. He wished that he could have just been slain in battle like in the old days. It would have been easier than dying from the inside._

_A few days later, England walked back to his flat in central London. He couldn't bare staying in the house that would just be empty. "Goddamn it!" a girl cursed outside the building._

_"Something wrong?" England asked._

_"This stupid key…" the girl muttered as she kept fiddling with the key in the lock, "I've been having trouble with it since I got here and my landlord refuses to get me a new one."_

_Seeing as the girl was in his building, England took out his own key and opened the door for her._

_"Thanks," the girl said, "Are you new to the building?"_

_"Sort of. I've lived here before." 'Back during the Blitz...' England thought in his head. "I was living with my brothers, but…" he trailed off, not exactly sure of how to describe his situation in human terms._

_"They kicked you out." the girl finished._

_England agreed for simplicity, "Something like that. My name's Arthur."_

_"Victoria. And please, don't call me Vicky. I hate that nickname."_

_They shook hands. England was reminded of a certain girl a few centuries ago by the same name who had the same level of resolution. That was their first meeting. A few days later, England invited Victoria over to his flat for tea._

_"So what are you doing here in London?" England asked._

_"Good question, I'm still trying to figure that one out," Victoria said in an amused fashion. "I was over here studying history. Then I met up with this group of people who want to start an international band. So now, I have no idea what I want to do."_

_"You can sing?"_

_"Very well too. I can also speak Welsh, and understand a bit of Irish and Scottish Gaelic."_

_"That's impressive."_

_Victoria nodded. "My family is from all over Britain, so I've been surrounded by those languages since I was young."_

_England nodded and continued with preparing the tea._

_"What about you, Arthur?"_

_"I'm… something like an ambassador."_

_"Really? That explains the suit."_

_"Habit," England admitted._

_"So what, are you like on extended vacation?"_

_"You could say that. I'm not as busy anymore since the dissolution."_

_"I would think you'd be even busier at this time."_

_"Not me. Others are though."_

_"Your job must be weird then."_

_England actually laughed out loud with this. "The weirdest in the world," he admitted._

_England never told Victoria of who he was, but he did tell her of what he learned through his job, which intrigued her. They would spend hours talking and discussing history. It would numb the pain from the dissolution for a time, but at night it would get bad. No sleeping pills or pain killers helped. Eventually he did ask for help from Victoria._

_"There's only one person I know who might be able to help you," she said, "But I don't trust him."_

_"Why?"_

_"…There's something he's been working on recently, and he hasn't told me about it at all. Maybe it's just me, but I think he's doing something illegal."_

_"Normally, I would heed your advice, but this is an exception."_

_"It's that bad, uh? Alright, I'll introduce you."_

_His name was Alec, and he was a med student with a specialty with drugs. Of course the secret thing was the one thing England was looking for._

_"Ambrosia," Alec said revealing the plastic bottle, "In large quantities, this stuff can be lethal. But a small dose can be pretty useful. It should help. All I ask is an update once a week. You're the first to actually want to do this."_

_"What do most people do?"_

_"They panic when I say they could die from this stuff. I've watered it down a ton, but people panic easily."_

_That was the agreement. The watered down stuff did help, but soon, England asked for the normal stuff._

_"I'm almost scared to give this to you since it is lethal not watered down, but if you insist. Just be careful, ok? I don't want blood on my hands."_

_The normal ambrosia was what did the trick. England was able to sleep better. After two weeks, though, he was an addict to the stuff. The bad memories would come once the effect wore off, and it created an even bigger hole in England. Leading up to the days he completely overdosed on ambrosia, he was depressed and slept a lot, his dreams being memories of his younger days when he was alone in the forest._

                When England finished his story, he waited silently for his judgment from his family. There was silence for a long time, until Scotland spoke up. "I already stated what I think of all of this. You are a stubborn idiot and you better not do this again, or I promise I will invade your country and take it over."

                "I'm not saying I'm ok with what you did," Wales said, "But I accept your apology, as long as you don't do it again. Even if we are now separated, we are still family."

                "Besides, I love visitors," Northern Ireland said, giving England a great big hug.

                "I'm with Northern Ireland, mate," Australia said with a smile, "It's about time you yourself started visiting me for personal reasons."

                Canada nodded in agreement.

                Everyone looked at America, who hadn't said a word. He had his arms crossed and was looking away from England. He had a sulky face on. He eventually looked at England, and sighed, "I'll only forgive you if you actually apologize."

                England closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry," England said quietly.

                "I can't hear you."

                "I'm sorry, wanker. Ok?"

                America nodded, and gave England a bear hug. England could feel tears on his shoulder where America's head was.  _Don't you know how hard it is to see your role model be torn apart?_ "I'm sorry, Alfred," England whispered, using America's human name for once, "I didn't realize how much this would affect you."

 

**(Some time later)**

                England and Ireland became the only ones left in the room. They sat across from each other, neither one wanting to look the other in the eye.

                "I still haven't forgiven you," Ireland said.

                "I'm not surprised," England stated. He knew what Ireland was talking about. It had nothing to do with this episode at all.

                More silence. The tension in the room was making him nervous; Ireland was incredibly fierce when he was angry.

                Ireland sighed in an annoyed manner. "…truce?" he asked slowly, an almost guilty look in his eyes. The hostile tension of the room dropped completely, giving England the feeling of being dunked into cold water.

                England raised an eyebrow, "Truce for what?"

                "To be brothers again." Ireland looked England in the eye. He was being completely serious.

                "Why the change of heart?" England asked slowly.

                "I… I've been reminded of what a family is recently…"

                "Mum?" England guessed. He was explained the fact that Britannia did come the night prior. Something about God letting her settle things with her sons.

                "Aye, a bit. This whole situation as well. You did give us quiet a scare. Even me to be perfectly honest."

                England nodded and held out a hand, which Ireland took. The binding power of Ireland's magic sealed the agreement. Enough was enough. Ireland could never forget the past, but they could at least begin working with the future.

                "This means that you can't get mad at me for making fun of you now," England said, with a devilish grin on his face.

                "Two words: piss off." Ireland said, then smiled a little.

 

                "I can get the spell to work fine, it's just coming out of it that's the problem," Canada was saying. His eyes were glowing violet and his face looked a bit scared.

                "That's normal," Wales said calmly. Canada had come up to him after trying one of the spells from the book he made for Canada. Wales wasn't entirely sure at first how Canada had gotten the book considering Wales had it in his room last night. Then Scotland had told him Britannia came to visit and that explained everything. Including this spell that was scaring Canada.

                "Eh?"

                "This happens all the time, especially with this spell that Mum gave you. It's timed, so you have a set amount of time in this spell."

                "That's stupid," Canada said dully. He didn't looked impressed at all.

                "And that's why there's blank space in the book. England's always writing and rewriting spells. I am too, but not to as great of an extent as he does."

                "You still haven't told me how that all works," Canada pointed out.

                "Experimenting."

                "Sounds dangerous."

                "It is." Wales shrugged, "I'm surprised by how many times England  _hasn't_  blown himself up making spells."

                Canada laughed at that. Wales looked down at Canada's spell book, but found  _himself face to face with England in dark hallway with only a failing lamp for light._  Wales tried to grab hold of something more solid to keep himself rooted in reality, but there was nothing around him to anchor him down except for the supposed book.

 _Wales was holding a silver pocket watch. He could sense the type of magic that went into charming the object; it felt old and experienced, but the spell itself was very advanced. "This is an ancient magic, England, something older than my magic. What exactly are you dealing with?"_  He heard himself say.

_England shook his head. "I can't tell you." Wales opened up the watch. Inside was a picture of four people: England, France, Canada, and America all sitting together as if for a family portrait. They actually looked happy to be there as well, something Wales could never imagine ever happening._

                " _Whatever it is, this magic is something beyond you. Even I can't understand it. All I can say is stay out of it." Wales closed up the watch._

                " _I can't. I'm too involved with this not to back out now."_

_"But why?"_

_"Because this is something I did, or will do. My handiwork is all over this, and I need to fix it."_

_"England…" Wales started to say in a warning tone._

_"DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT ISN'T MY BLOODY FAULT!" England yelled._

                Wales backed up, hitting against the wall. This was too much. **Wales, are you alright?**

 _England took a breath before continuing, "I've put everyone in danger._   _They are all going to die if I don't do something." England sighed. "This isn't what I even came to you for anyway," England made to take the watch back, but Wales put it out of England's reach. England sighed, "I need the location of the time stones."_

**Wales, answer me.**

                " _England, you know how dangerous the time stones are. In the wrong hands they could be used to destructive ends. They are best left hidden."_

_"I need them though, because there is a group of people out there also looking for them, and if they get the stones, we are all bloody screwed."_

_"What are you not telling me, England? I need to know. What have you done?"_

**WALES!**

                Wales snapped out of the vision, he felt something like an electric shock run through his entire body, and saw he was face to face with America; Wales just caught the last traces of glowing in America's eyes.

                "Are you ok, dude?" America asked with concern, "Was it another future vision?"

                Wales nodded, regaining a face of composure.

                "What about?" Canada asked.

                "I… I'm not sure…" 'Time stones…' he thought, 'England what are you going to get yourself into?'

                "Is it about us?" America asked.

                "Maybe…" Wales closed his eyes, thinking back to the picture inside the watch. "It's something to do with England… he did something... or is going to do something…and it effects many people..." He had no idea of the 'they' England was talking about in the vision. Was it his people? Or was it some nations he cared deeply about?

                "It's ok," Canada said, putting a hand on Wales' shoulder. "If you don't know, you don't know."

                Wales nodded. America helped Wales back on his feet.

                "You said these things became clearer in time, right?" America asked. "Let us know when you know more about it."

                "Maybe. Depends what it is. Sometimes, America, you have to let things run their course."

 

                England peaked in the hall, looking to see if anyone was there. No one. Quietly, England went over to a phone and dialed up the operator. He had been meaning to do this for a day now, but his brothers had been watching him like a hawk. 'It's not like I'm incapable of functioning on my own,' he thought as he waited for his call to be picked up.

                "What are ye doin' now?" Scotland asked, going over.

                England snapped around. "You are not the boss of me." England held up a finger to Scotland in a wait guester, "Yes, can you connect me to Antonio Fernandez Carriedo?" he said to the phone.

                "You are still not to full health, so yes, I am."

                England groaned. "My health is fine,  _thank you_  very much. Besides, I'm just checking up on a friend. At least, I think we are friends now."

                "Why?"

                "Because… I want to make sure he made it out alright."

                "You saw him?"

                "We were in this reoccurring dream together. I know, I know… never trust things in the dream realm, but I have this feeling that it really was him and not just a figment of my imagination. I just want to make sure he is ok." 'An explosion is nothing to laugh at,' England thought to himself.

                The call went through. "And what the f- do you want?"

                It took England a moment to work out who it was: Romano. He sounded pissed… more pissed than usual. "…is Spain there?"

                "Who is this?"

                "England."

                "England's on the phone," Romano said to someone else, "Do you want to talk to him?" There was some shuffling and England heard a door close. "Hola?" a new voice said. It was Spain.

                England took a deep breath and a leap of faith, "Hola, Captain of the  _Asunción_. How are you feeling?" He hoped that Spain would understand the message, being that England used the name of the ship they were on in the dream.

                England heard a sigh. "I've been better. How about you?"

                "I've been worse," England said, not sure what to say, "I just wanted to call to make sure you were alright."

                "To make sure it all happened, right?"

                "Yeah…" England felt relieved, sort of. But now it brought another question to mind, "About the explosion… it was an explosion, right?"

                "Si."

                "What exactly were you doing?"

                "Ah, that. I can't tell you."

                England raised an eyebrow. He looked at the phone for a moment in confusion before asking, "Why?"

                "At least not now. I want it to be a surprise for the world meeting."

                "You'll be able to make it?"

                "I should, if Romano will actually let me out of bed. I keep telling him I need to start walking again, but he doesn't listen. "

                "Alright, but if you can't make it, you have to tell me."

                "I will, I will. I owe you that much."

                "Is it something good?"

                "Si, very good. All I ask is for you to hear me out when I explain. Comprende?"

                "Fair enough." England was now completely intrigued as to what Spain had done. "Though I have a bad feeling about this."

                "Don't. Trust me. I'll see you Monday."

                "Spain, wait," England said quickly, "Before you hand up… Thank you, for helping me out. I don't think I would have come back without you."

                "Alright, who are you and what have you done with the real England?"

                "I mean it, Spain. Also…" England had no idea what he was saying, but he was rolling with it, "This is going to sound so bloody weird, but… are we friends?"

                "As in can we trust each other? I thought we had that whole realization in the mansion."

                "Well, that, and can we come to each other in times of need?" 'That is the definition of friendship, right?' England wondered as he waited for Spain's reply.

                "Si, amigo. Anytime."

                England couldn't help but smile. A friend, outside of the family. A true friend not made out of any political gain. Something personal, which his boss couldn't do anything about for once. "Thank you."


	24. Bonus Chapter: Fun with France

                Canada's phone rang with the tune of France's national song. England looked up from the paper he was reading. Apparently, a lot of stuff had broken out since he was mentally out of tune; Wales had been marking up the papers, highlighting the important articles. Nothing good, as always. Nothing good was ever on the front page, except for weddings. Not even the new episodes of Doctor Who were good. Not that they weren't good episodes, but they had bad things happening that always tore England's heart out, for example the tenth doctor's last episode. My God, he needed a good brew that day.

                "Ehe, give me a moment," Canada said sheepishly. He took out the phone and answered it as he left the room, "Bonjour, Papa."

                America was getting up, but England grabbed his arm and sat him down (which was hard to do since America had always been stronger than England). England ended up having to stand up to successfully shove America back in his seat. "What?" America asked.

                "Canada wants privacy," England explained, "Otherwise he would have stayed in here."

                "But I want to know who's on the phone," America whined.

                "Aren't you the control freak?" England remarked.

                "Hey, don't act like you wouldn't do the exact same thing."

                "And yet here I am waiting for Canada to come back  _like a gentleman_."

                America looked at England a bit peeved. Canada came back, still holding the phone. "Umm… Francis wants to talk to you, Arthur," he said.

                "Oh?" England took the phone where France's face was on the screen.

                "Angleterre! Matthew told me what had happened. Are you alright?"

                "You told him?" England asked Canada. He wasn't really angry with Canada; he just didn't get why Canada would tell France… no… it made sense actually. Canada and France always seemed to have some kind of connection. Maybe because they were related.

                Canada had a guilty face on. "Of course he told me," France answered, "He tells me everything."

                Canada's face was covered by his hands and America started laughing. No doubt America just made some sort of comment that put Canada in an awkward position. "Alfred, behave," England said sternly.

                "So, is it true you completely forgot everything? Even moi?"

                "France, I don't think anyone could forget who you bloody are," England growled.

                "That is because I am so unforgettable. Who can forget a beautiful face like mine?"

                England groaned.

                "Now, the reason I called: I need help. I am trying to get a party started, but it turns out something has arisen in my country and my hands are tied, so to speak."

                Both America and Canada perked up at this. England asked, "What's the occasion for this party?"

                "Well, since many nations are getting new bosses, like Matthew, Switzerland, and Australia, we should have something to congratulate them, no? Maybe even help those bosses understand this whole nations thing?"

                'That idea isn't half bad,' England thought. "Alright, fine. But I can't help with it. I've already got enough work for me trying to catch up with what I missed over the past few weeks."

                "Really?" France asked.

                "I was in a bloody coma, you git!"

                "And who's fault it that?" France smirked. America snickered.

                "Shut up, frog!" England looked up at America, "And what did I tell you?"

                "He is right, you know," America stated, still smirking.

                France laughed. "Fine then. Help me find someone who can help. I promised Australia that I would make this work."

                England thought about it for a moment, actually considering it for Australia's sake. "I don't know, someone who has nothing better to do… Why don't you ask Prussia?" England regretted suggesting that right after he said it. A party put on by Prussia was not going to be good.

                "Now there's an idea. Merci, Angleterre. Can you hand me back to mon petit now?"

                "You know he's my child."

                "Not biologically. He has my good looks." England rolled his eyes and handed the phone back to Canada, who was still looking really red.

                "Qu'est-ce que je vous dis sur vous me aide comme influence pour vos arguments avec l'Angleterre?"

                England blinked. Sure, he had heard Canada speak in French, though not as fast as how Canada just said it. It almost scared him if he was being completely honest with himself.

                "No worries, me cheri," France said, still talking in the nation dialect, "It was no argument."

                "Francis," Canada said in a pleading manner.

                "Alright, I'm sorry. So, now that Angleterre is alright, will you come visit me? I haven't seen you in so long."

                "I wish I could, Papa, but I'm needed in my government right now. I'm leaving here tonight."

                "All the more reason to have this party then. Alright, call me when you return home, ok?"

                "Oui, papa. Au revoir." Canada hung up the phone.

                "I didn't realize you talked to him often," England said.

                "Once phones were invented, Francis has been calling me constantly. We got an agreement on that we'd call once a week, unless something big turns up," Canada explained. England looked down at his paper. "If you want… we can do something similar," Canada suggested.

                "You wouldn't mind?" England asked.

                Canada shook his head and smiled, "After all this, I think it is a good idea to keep in touch more."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Canada said (roughly) was "What did I tell you about using me as leverage in your arguments with England?"


End file.
